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CARMINA 



By 

T. A. DALY 

Author of **Canzoni" 



NEW YORK 

JOHN LANE COMPANY 

MCMIX 



Copyright by T. A. Daly, 1906, 1907, 1908 
Copyright by John Lane Company, 1909 



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LIBRARY of COfgORESS 


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APR 1 


1909 


Copyrni.Hi ..ohy 
CLASS ^ ^Ac. No. 

Z35 ISO 



TAe Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 



Co 
"HERSELF" 



AUTHOR'S NOTE 

The verses in this collection were printed 
originally in the " Catholic Standard and Times," 
with the exception of four of those in Italian 
dialect. For permission to include these in this 
book thanks are due to the " American Maga- 
zine," "Reader Magazine," and "Associated 
Sunday Magazines." Of the seventy-eight titles 
between these covers ten are reprinted, with some 
slight revisions, from the author's first book of 
verse, " Canzoni." 



CONTENTS 



ITALICE PAGE 

Two 'Mericana Men 3 

Da Sweeta Soil 5 

Leetla Joe 8 

A Guide to Italy lo 

Da Boy from Rome 13 

Da Coward Dagoman iS 

Padre Angelo 18 

In the Hurly-Burly . 22 

Apologia Pro Vita Sua ....... 24 

Mia Carlotta 27 

The Lonely Honeymoon 29 

To THE Dyspeptic 32 

Leetla Giorgio Washeenton 35 

The Busy Wife 38 

The Audience 41 

Da Besta Frand 44. 

All's Well That Ends Well ..... 47 

The Laborer and his Hire 49 

Between Two Loves 52 

The April Wind 54 

Three to One 5^ 

The Italian Moon $8 

His Interested Friend 60 

Padre Domineec 62 

Een Napoli 64 

Giuseppe to His Dog . / 65 

The Harbinger 67 

An After-Dinner Thought 69 

Yearning 72 

ix 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

GlAC FiNELLI 74 

From a Car Window 76 

Da Leetla Boy jg 

HIBERNICE 

The Meltin' o' the Snow 83 

The Irish National Bird 86 

The Irish Bird-Charmer 88 

cordaylia o' the alley 90 

Heartless Sheila Shea 93 

The Song of the Thrush 95 

The Ould Apple Woman 97 

The Mourner 100 

Ould Phelim McKeone 105 

The Irish Bachelor 109 

A Song of Riches m 

The Homing Girl 113 

News o' the World 117 

The Son of his Father 119 

The Peaceable Race 121 

The Day We Celebrate 124 

MoNA Machree 126 

Ould Barney to the Boy . . . , . , . 128 

Glimmerings of Patriotism 130 

A Bit of a Riddle 133 

CORNAYLIUS HA-Ha-Ha-HANNIGAN 136 

The Pauper at the Gate 139 

The Omadhaun 14a 

ANGLICE 

Hark Ye! Merrie Gleemen! 147 

October 149 

The Castle Impregnable 151 

The Poet 154 

On a May Morning 156 

To a Robin 157 



CONTENTS xi 

PAGE 

The Journey's End , . 159 

All Hallows Eve 160 

The Day of the Circus Horse 161 

To the Joy-Bringer 163 

SONGS OF THE MONTHS 

A Song for January 167 

A Song for February 169 

A Song for March . . . 171 

A Song for April 173 

A Song for May 176 

A Song for June 178 

A Song for July 180 

A Song for August 182 

A Song for September .184 

A Song for October i86 

A Song for November 189 

A Song for December 190 

L'ENVOI 

To A Tenant ........... 192 



I T A L I C E 



TWO 'MERICANA MEN 

BEEG Irish cop dat walk hees beat 
By dees peanutta stan', 
First two, free week w'en we are meet 

Ees call me ''Dagoman.'* 
An' w'en he see how mad I gat, 

Wheech eesa pleass heem, too. 
Wan day he say: "W'at's matter dat. 

Ain't ^Dago' name for you? 
Dat's 'Mericana name, you know, 

For man from Eetaly; 
Eet ees no harm for call you so. 

Den why be mad weeth me?" 
First time he talka deesa way 

I am too mad for speak, 
But nexta time I justa say: 

"All righta Meester Meeck!" 

O! my, I nevva hear bayfore 
Sooch langwadge like he say; 



C A R M I N A 



An' he don't look at me no more 

For mebbe two, free day. 
But pretta soon agen I see 

Dees beeg poleecaman 
Dat com' an' growl an' say to me; 

"Hallo, Eyetalian! 
Now, mebbe so you gon' deny 

Dat dat'sa name for you." 
I smila back an' mak' reply: 

"No, Irish, dat'sa true." 
"Ha! Joe," he cry, "you theenk dat we 

Should call you 'Merican?" 
"Dat's gooda 'nough," I say, "for me, 

Eef dat's w'at you are, Dan." 

So now all times we speaka so 

Like gooda 'Merican: 
He say to me "Good moma, Joe," 

I say, "Good moma, Dan." 



C AR MIN A 



DA SWEETA SOIL 

ALL weenter-time I work for deeg 
Da tranch een ceety street, 
An' I am looka like da peeg 

An' smal jus' 'bout as sweet, 
Baycause my ban's, my face, my clo'es 

Ees dirty as can be. 
An' sewer-gas ees een my nose 

An' steeck all ovra me. 
More dirty an' more mean I feel 

Dan I am look to you; 
My soul eenside ees seeck, but steell, 

Wat am I gona do? 
Ees notheeng sweet een ceety street 

For mak' me better man. 
All men an' theengs dat I am meet 

Mak' meanness all dey can. 
An' all dey speak ees ogly words 

An' do som' ogly thee^g. 
So even, too, dose leetla birds, 

Dat ought be glad an' seeng, 



C A R M I N A 



Dey fight each other een da dirt 

For dirty food dey eat. 
Ah! so my soul eenside ees hurt 

For work een ceety street. 

But yestaday! Oh, yestaday, 

I leeve, I breathe again! 
Da boss ees sand me far away 

For work een countra lane. 
How can I niak' you ondrastand — 

You are so grand, so reech — 
To know da joy I feel, my frand, 

For deeg dees countra deetch ? 
I sweeng my peeck, an' Oh! da smal, 

Wen first I turn da sod! 
So sweet! Escuse me eef I tal 

Ees like da breath of God. 
So pure da soil, like Eetaly, 

I stoop an' taka piece 
An' den — Oh! donta laugh at me — 

I talk to eet and keess! 
An' while I do dees foola theeng 

An' mak' so seelly tears. 



C AR MIN A 



Ees com' a pritta bird an' seeng 

Hees music een my ears. 
You know dees 'Mericana bird, 

Weeth breast so lika flame, 
So red; I do not know da word 

You say for call hees name. 
But w'at he seeng ees plain to me. 

An' dees ees part of eet: 
"Ees spreeng, ees spreeng een Eetaly, 

So sweeta, sweeta, sweet!" 

Oh, eef you weesh da Dagoman, 

Dat com' for leeve weeth you, 
To be da gooda 'Merican 

An' love dees countra, too, 
I ask you tak' heem by da hand, 

Away from ceety street, 
An' show heem first dees granda land 

Where eet ees pure an' sweet. 



C A R ^1 I N A 



LEETLA JOE 

T EETLA Joe he always say: 

-■— ' ''Wen I am beeg man som^ day, 

Eef so be I gona grow 
Strong an' fat so like my Pop, 
I weell go for be a cop, 

Mebbe so." 
Soocha talk for four-year-old! 
Dough he brag so beeg an' bold 
Een wan handa you could hold 

Leetla Joe. 

Leetla Joe he lay hees cheek 
On my breast w'en he ees seeck. 

Squeeze my arm an' tal me: ''Oh! 
Pretta soon I gona gat 
Granda muscle lika dat. 

W'en I grow 
Like my Pop how proud I be! 
Justa wait an' you weell see." 
Ah! so sweet to hug to me 

Leetla Joe! 



C AR MIN A 



But, baycause I'm 'fraid dat he 
Wan day would be 'shame' of me, — 

'Shame' for call me ^^Pop" an' know, 
Wen he's fina 'Merican, 
I'm so poor old Dagoman — 

Wen I go 
Where hees grave ees on da heell, 
Dere ees joy for me to feel 
Dat my heart can keep heem steell 

Leetla Joe. 



lO 



C A R M I N A 



A GUIDE TO ITALY 

EH? You are sail for Eetaly? 
Oh, my! I weesh I gon' weeth you! 
I show you all da place to see 
An' all da besta peopla, too; 
An' evratheeng you want, my frand. 

So you could know, w'en you are through, 
All theengs een dat so granda land — 
Oh, my! I weesh I gon' weeth you! 

Eh? Sure! I know da Ian' so wal 

I geeve advice bayfore you go; 
I tal you all you want me tal. 

Wat ees eet you weell like for know ? 
Da churcha? No, not Rome, my frand. 

I tal you eef you want for see 
Da fines' wans een all da land 

You musta go for Napoli. 
Da music? You are fond of eet? 

Wal den, baylieve me eef I say 
Ees no wan play so gran', so sweet 



C A R MI N A II 

Like Banda Napoli ees play. 
Wat kinda wine? Chianti! Oh, 

My frand, you must have taste of dat. 
Da best ees mak' from grapes dat grow 

By Napoh, so beeg, so fat — 
Eh? Where da besta peopla leeve? 

Wal, now, I want you com' to me 
Bay fore you sail an' I weel geeve 

You names som' frands een Napoli — 
Eh? Where da pritta ladies ees? 

Ah, my! Ravenna ees da place, 
Not Napoli, for findin' dese. 

Ravenna girls ees gotta face 
So sweet, an' teeth so white as snow. 

So brighta eyes, so black da hair — 
Ravenna ees my town? Oh! no. 

My Rosa she ees com' from dere. 
You know, I com' from Napoli, 

Dat's how I know so mooch to tal 
About da besta theengs to see; 

You see, I know dem vera wal. 



12 C AR MIN A 

Eh? Wal, good-day, my frand. Oh, no, 

I glad for tal you w'at to do 
Een Eetaly, bayfore you go — 

Oh, my, I weesh I gon' weeth you! 



CARMINA 13 



DA BOY FROM ROME 

TO-DAY ees com' from Eetaly 
A boy ees leeve een Rome, 
An' he ees stop an' speak weeth me - 
I weesh he stay at home. 

He stop an' say ^^ Hallo," to me, 

An' w'en he standin' dere 
I smal da smal of Eetaly 

Steell steeckin' een hees hair, 
Dat com' weeth heem across da sea, 

An' een da clo'es he wear. 

Da peopla bomp heem een da street, 
De noise ees scare heem, too; 

He ees so clumsy een da feet 
He don't know w'at to do, 

Dere ees so many theeng he meet 
Dat ees so strange, so new. 

He sheever an' he ask eef here 
Eet ees so always cold. 



14 CARMINA 

Den een hees eye ees com' a tear — 

He ees no vera old — 
An\ oh, hees voice ees soun' so queer 

I have no heart for scold. 

He look up een da sky so gray, 

But oh, hees eye ees be 
So far away, so far away. 

An' w'at he see I see. 
Da sky eet ees no gray to-day 

At home een Eetaly. 

He see da glada peopla seet 
Where warma shine da sky — 

Oh, while he eesa look at eet 
He ees baygeen to cry. 

Eef I no growl an' swear a beet 
So, too, my frand, would I. 

Oh, why he stop an' speak weeth me, 
Dees boy dat leeve een Rome, 

An' com' to-day from Eetaly? 
I weesh he stay at home. 



CARMINA 15 



DA COWARD DAGOMAN 

1NEVVA see Eetalian 
Dat ees so scare', so coward man, 
Like Malatesta, from Milan. 
You bat my life, hees — w'at you call ? - 
Hees " cheecken-heart " eet ees so small 
You can no find da theeng at all! 
Eh? Don't you read een paper how 
Som'body stab heem een da row 
Dat happen lasta Frida' night? 
Eh? No, he ees alive all right; 
But now w'en he ees gattin' wal, 
An' all poleece ees ask heem tal 
Who ees da man dat cut heem so, 
He justa say: ^'I don'ta know." 
Now, w'at you theenk sooch coward man 
Like Malatesta from Milan? 
I tal you w'at, eet mak' me seeck — 
Eh? sure he know who do da treeck! 
But he ees scare' for tal, my frand. 
For dat he fear da Blacka Hand. 



i6 CARMINA 

Eh ? Wat ? Of course ees true. I know, 

Or else I would no tal you so. 

Yes, I am sure! baycause I see 

Dat bada man from Seecily, 

Dat leeve een jail mos' all hees life, 

Giuseppe Galdi, pull hees knife 

An' den, so lika cat, so queeck, 

He mak' da jompa — So ! — an' steeck 

Poor Malatesta deesa way! 

Den — presto! he is gon' an' — eh? 

Why I don't tal dem w'at I see ? 

Me tal poleece? Escusa me! 

You see, I jus' was gona say 

So queeck da bad man run away — 

An', too, my eyes ees poor at night — 

You see, ees mebbe so I might 

Be wrong 'bout Galdi. Sooch meestak' 

Ees posseeble, you know, to mak'. 

Baysides, w'at for I care? You see, 

Eet ees no beezaness for me. 

Da man dat's cut he ees da best 

To tal poleece for mak' arrest. 

But Malatesta, from Milan, 



CARMINA 17 

He eesa coward Dagoman; 

Hees cheecken-heart eet ees so small 

You can no find da theeng at all! 



i8 C A R M I N A 



PADRE ANGELO 

PADRE Angelo he say: 
^'Why you no gat married, eh? 
You are maka playnta mon' 
For gon' taka wife, my son." 
"No; I am too beeza man 
'Tandin' dees peanutta stan'. 
I no gatta time for play 
Fooleeshness weeth girls," I say. 
"My! you don'ta tal me so?" 
Ees say Padre Angelo. 

Bimeby, mebbe two, free day, 
Younga girl she com' an' say: 
"Padre Angelo ees here? 
No? Eet eesa vera queer! 
Heesa housakeepa say 
I gon' find heem deesa way." 
While she eesa speaka so 
Ees com' Padre Angelo. 
"Rosa! you are look for me?" 



C A R M I N A 19 

He ees say to her, an' she 
Say: "Oh, pleass, go homa, queeck, 
You are want' for som' wan seeck. 
I am sand for find you here." 
"Ah! da seecka-call, my dear. 
Com'," say Padre Angelo, 
"Deesa younga man ees Joe; 
Shaka han's bayfore we go." 
So I am shak' han's weeth her — 
Leetla han' so sof ' like fur — 
Den she bow to me an' go 
Weetha Padre Angelo. 

Bimeby, s'pose two, free day more, 

She ees com' jus' like bayfore, 

An' she aska me: "You know 

Where ees Padre Angelo? 

Housakeep' she tal me wait 

Eef he don't be vera late." 

So I tal her taka seat 

An' to hav' som' fruit for eat. 

Den I talk to her an' she 

Smila sweet an' talk to me; 



20 C A R M I N A 

How long time I donta know. 

Den com' Padre Angelo. 

'*0h," she say, ^'go homa queeck, 

You are want' for som' wan seeck." 

"My!" he say, "dese seecka-call! 

I am gat no peace at all." 

"Oh, wal, com', my dear," he say, 

An' he takin' her way. 

I am sad for see her go 

Weetha Padre Angelo. 

Many times ees lika dat. 
Peopla always seem for gat 
Seecka when he ees away. 
Rosa com' mos' evra day. 
An' som' time she gatta stay 
Pretta longa time, you know, 
Teell com' Padre Angelo. 
Steell I no gat any keeck 
How mooch peopla gatta seeck; 
I am feela glad dey do — 
Rosa, she no keeckin', too. 



CARMINA 21 

Lasta night my Rosa she 

Go to Padre weetha me, 

An' I tal heem: "Pretta soon — 

Mebbe so da firsta June — 

Rosa gona be my wife!" 

He ees s'prise', you bat my life! 

"Wat?" he say, an' rub hees eyes, 

"Dees ees soocha glada s'prise! 

My! you don'ta tal me so?" 

Ees say Padre Angelo. 



22 CARMINA 



IN THE HURLY-BURLY 

I GOTTA stand een Walla Street, 
But beez'ness don'ta pay, 
For no wan here got time for eat; 

So I gon' mova 'way. 
Grand, reecha men dey hurry past 

Een sunshine, een da rain; 
An' oh, dey go so fast, so fast, 

Eet geeve my heada pain. 
I gotta fines' fruit far sal 

You findin' anywhere, 
But steell I mighta jus' as wal 

Be dead fur w'at dey care. 
Ees only wan theeng here I love — 

Dose birds dat feed een street; 
I s'pose you mebbe call dem ^'dove" — 

Eh? ^'Peegeon?" Yes, dat's eet. 
All day dey fly about my stand 

An' som' of dem I mak' 
For justa seet upon my hand 

An' eata nut an' cak'. 



CARMINA 23 

But steell da 'Mericans go by 

An' nevva look at me. 
Dey got so strange look een da eye; 

I wondra w'at dey see. 
Wance only was dere wan so good 

An' kind to stop een street 
An' throw dose pretta birds som' food 

An' wait for watch dem eat. 
*^Ah! here," I theenk, ^^ees granda man," 

But pretta soon I see 
Ees justa drunka 'Merican — 

So drunk as he can be. 
So I am seeck weeth Walla Street, 

For beez'ness don'ta pay; 
Ees no wan here got time for eat, 

So I gon' mova 'way. 



24 CARMINA 



APOLOGIA PRO VITA SUA 

W'AT for you call me ^'Dago man/' 
An' mak' so bada face? 
Ees no room for Eetalian 
Een deesa bigga place? 

I s'pose you are more better dan 

Da Dago man could be. 
But, pleassa, Meester 'Merican, 

I ask you wait and see. 
How long you leeve een deesa land ? 

Eh? Thirta-seven year? 
Ees onla seexa mont', my frand, 

Seence I am comin' here. 
I weesh you geeve me time for try 

An' see w'at I can do, 
So mebbe I gon' be, bimeby, 

So gooda man like you. 
Baycause I am so strong, I guess 

I gon' do pretta wal. 



C A R M I N A 25 

So long I 'tand to beezaness 

An' jus' bayhave mysaP. 
My leetla cheeldren, too, ees strong — 

Eh? You no gotta none? 
You married, Meester? Eh? How long? 

T waive year ! an' no got wan ? 
Oh, I am sad for you, my frand — 

Eh? Why you laugh at me? 
Escuse! I do not ondrastand; 

I am so strange, you see. 
My "keeds ees no good breed," you say? 

Ah! wal, ees mebbe not, 
But dey weell be more good som' day 

Dan dose you don'ta got; 
An' dey be stronga 'Merican, 

More strong dan you are, too. 
Ees notta many Dago man 

So skeenny lika you. 
Oh! pleass, my frand, no gatta mad! 

Shak' han' bayfore you go. 
Escusa me! I am so sad 

For speakin' to you so. 



26 C A R M I N A 



But why you call me "Dago man'' 

An' mak' so bada face? 
Ees no room for Eetalian 

Een deesa bigga place ? 



C A R M I N A 27 



MIA CARLOTTA 

GIUSEPPE, da barber, ees greata for 
^'mash," 
He gotta da bigga, da blacka moustache, 
Good clo'es an' good styla an' playnta good 
cash. 

W'enevra Giuseppe ees walk on da street, 
Da peopla dey talka, ^^how nobby! how neat! 
How softa da handa, how smalla da feet." 

He leefta hees hat an' he shaka hees curls. 
An' smila weeth teetha so shiny like pearls; 
Oh, manny da heart of da seelly young girls 

He gotta. 
Yes, playnta he gotta — 

But notta 

Carlotta! 

Giuseppe, da barber, he maka da eye, 
An' lika da steam engine puffa an' sigh, 
For catcha Carlotta w'en she ees go by. 



28 C A R M I N A 

Carlotta she walka weeth nose in da air, 
An' look through Giuseppe weeth far-away 

stare, 
As eef she no see dere ees somebody dere. 

Giuseppe, da barber, he gotta da cash, 
He gotta da clo'es an' da bigga moustache, 
He gotta da seelly young girls for da 
" mash," 

But notta — 
You bat my life, notta — 
Carlotta. 
I gotta! 



C A R M I N A 29 



THE LONELY HONEYMOON 

YOU know dees Joe dat use' to go 
For work weeth me, Signor? 
He's marry, yestaday, you know, 

An' gon' for Baltimore; 
An' so deesgusta man like Joe 
You nevva see bayforel 

Eh? No, da girl's all right, my frand; 

Dat's mak' eet harder, too. 
Ha! wait an' you weell ondrastand — 

I tal eet all to you. 
You see, dees Joe long time ago 

Gat Rosa for hees mash. 
An' evra seence he worka so 

For mak' an' save da cash, 
Bay cause he want gat marry soon 

An' mebbe takin', too. 
Dees — w'at you calla — '' honeymoon," 

Like 'Mericana do. 
Wan day he tak' fi'-dollar note 



30 C A R M I N A 

An' go to steamsheep store 
An' buy two teecket for da boat 

Dat sail for Baltimore. 
An' den he tal me: ^'Shut your mout' 

An' justa looka wise. 
Dees theeng ees no for talka 'bout; 

Eet gona be su 'prise." 
So, w'en dey marry yestaday 

He smile so proud, Signor, 
W'en he ees keess her cheek an' say: 

^'We sail for Baltimore!" 
Ah! den, my frand, so sadda sight 

You nevva see. Oh, my! 
Poor Rosa she ees gat so white 

An' ees baygeen to cry. 
"Ees dees," she say, "a weddin' treep? 

Sooch fooleeshness you speak! 
I no can stand eet een a sheep, 

Da sea ees mak' me seeck." 
Poor Joe, he swear an' den he keess, 

An' coax an' beg her so. 
For theenk of all dat she weell meess — 

But no, she weell no go. 



C A R M I N A 31 

"O! Rosa mia!" Joe ees cry, 

"Your heart eet ees a stone, 
For dat you mak' me say ^good-bye' 

An' tak' da treep alone!" 

Oh, lonely honeymoon, an' oh, 

So sadda man, Signor, 
Dat gotta leave hees wife an' go 

Alone for Baltimore! 
So hearta-broka man like Joe 

You newa see bayfore. 



32 C A R M I N A 



TO THE DYSPEPTIC 

MY frand, you would like I should tal 
w'at I theenk; 
You weesh me advisin' you, too? 
Wal, den, eet ees justa da food an' da dreenk; 

Dat's all dat's da matter weeth you! 
O! 'Merican man, you are maka meestak' 

For eata so moocha da meat. 
W'at for you no learn, for your stomacha 
sak', 
W'at theengs ees da besta for eat? 
You lika roas' beef an' you lika da pie, 

An' all so reech fooda like dat; 
An' den you weell growl an' you wondra for 
why 
Sooch pain een da stomach you gat. 
You evva see Dagoman seeck from hees 
food? 
I bat you fi'-doUa, not mooch! 
Baycause for hees eatin' he finda more good 
Een fruit an' da salad an' sooch. 



C A R M I N A 33 

Da vegetabals dat ees grow een da spreeng 

Ees vera bes' food you can gat, 
So how you gon' 'scusa dees fooleesha theeng 

You do to Giuseppe Baratt' ? 
Giuseppe — Giuseppe da barber, you 
know — 
He tal me you com' een hees place, 
An', while he ees shave you, you growl at 
heem so 
An' maka sooch frown weeth your face, 
Baycause he no lika da same kinda food 

Dat mak' a man cranky like you. 
You tal heem da stuff dat he eat ees no 
good; 
He tal me you swear at heem, too — 
Eh? Yes, dees young onion dat grow een 
da spreeng. 
So tender, so juicy, so sweet! 
You think ees no right he should eat soocha 
theeng ? 
Dat's vera bes' food you can eat! 
You would no be crank eef you theenk like 
I theenk; 



34 C A R M I N A 

You gona be happier, too. 
You no ondrastan' da good food an' good 
dreenk ; 
Dat's all dat's da matter weeth you. 



CARMINA 35 



LEETLA GIORGIO 
WASHEENTON 

YOU know w'at for ees school keep out 
Dees holiday, my son? 
Wal, den, I gona tal you 'bout 
Dees Giorgio Washeenton. 

Wal, Giorgio was leetla keed 

Ees leeve long time ago, 
An' he gon' school for learn to read 

An' write hees nam', you know. 
He moocha like for gona school 

An' learna hard all day, 
Baycause he no gat time for fool 

Weeth bada keeds an' play. 
Wal, wan cold day w'en Giorgio 

Ees steell so vera small. 
He start from home, but he ees no 

Show up een school at all! 
Oh, my! hees Pop ees gatta mad 

An' so he tal hees wife: 



36 C A R M I N A 

''Som leetla boy ees gon' feel bad 

To-day, you bat my life!" 
An' den he grab a bigga steeck 

An' gon' out een da snow 
An' lookin' all aroun' for seek 

Da leetla Giorgio. 
Ha! w'at you theenk? Firs' theeng he see 

Where leetla boy he stan', 
All tangla up een cherry tree, 

Weeth hatchet een hees han'. 
"Ha! w'at you do?" hees Pop he say, 

''Wat for you busta rule 
An' stay away like dees for play 

Eenstead for gon' to school?" 
Da boy ees say: ''I no can lie, 

An' so I speaka true. 
I stay away from school for try 

An' gat som' wood for you. 
I theenka deesa cherry tree 

Ees gooda size for chop, 
An' so I cut heem down, you see, 

For justa help my Pop." 
Hees Pop he no can gatta mad, 



CARMINA 37 

But looka please' an' say: 
"My leetla boy, I am so glad 
You taka holiday." 

Ees good for leetla boy, you see, 

For be so bright an' try 
For help hees Pop; so den he be 

A granda man bimeby. 
So now you gotta holiday 

An' eet ees good, you know. 
For you gon' do da sama way 

Like leetla Giorgio. 
Don't play so mooch, but justa stop, 

Eef you want be som' good. 
An' try for help your poor old Pop 

By carry home som' wood; 
An' mebbe so like Giorgio 

You grow for be so great 
You gona be da Presidant 

Of dese Unita State'. 



38 C A R M I N A 



THE BUSY WIFE 

SEE dat, Signer? See, dere she go. 
Ah! look, she wave her hand! 
She's Rosa; dat's my wife, you know. 

Oh, granda girl, my frand. 
Ees notheeng look to me so sweet 

An' mak' me feel so good 
Like Rosa walkin' down da street 

Weeth bigga loada wood. 
So easy, weeth eet on her head, 

She eesa sweeng along, 
You theenk eet ees a hat eenstead — 

Eh? how ees dat for strong? 
I no could find een all da worP, 

You justa bat my life! 
Anudder soocha fina girl 

Like Rosa for da wife. 
Eh? Sure, I gotta mon' enough. 

Eh? w'ata for I mak' 
Her carry home sooch heavy stuff? 

Oh! my, you are meestak'. 



CARMINA 39 

I do not mak' her do dees theeng. 

I mighta be a cop — 
I mighta even be da Keeng — 

I no could mak' her stop. 
She Hke for doin' deesa way; 

She gat her work to do 
For keep her beezy alia day, 

So lika me an^ you. 
Eh? Sure she ees Eetalian, 

An' I am proud — Eh ? Wat ? 
"She no be gooda 'Merican 

So long she doin' dat?" 
I s'posa w'at you say ees true, 

But den, you see, Signor, 
Ees playnta theeng dat she might do 

Ees gona hurt her more. 
Of course, som' day I want dat she 

Be gooda 'Merican, 
But not so good dat she weell be 

Ashame' of Dagoman. 
Som' 'Mericana girls, of course, 

Dey theenk they are so good, 
Dey rather work for gat Divorce 



40 C A R M I N A 

Eenstead for carry wood! 
So, notheeng look to me so sweet, 

An^ mak' me feel so good, 
Like Rosa walkin' down da street 

Weeth bigga loada wood. 



C A R M I N A 41 



THE AUDIENCE 

IMAK' not moocha mon^ to-day, 
So few ees hear da tunes I play. 
Long time bayfore da sun ees shine 
I tak' dees street pian' of mine 
An' pull eet out from ceety street 
To countra lane, where cool an' sweet 
Da morneeng breeza blow, an' where 
All theengs ees beautiful an' fair. 
Oh, here, I theenk, I gona find 
Som' peopla so good-heart' an' kind 
Dey weell be glad for hear me play 
An' notta tal me "gona 'way!" 
Lika mosta do dat I am meet 
Wen I am play een ceety street. 

I walk an' walk, but eet ees queer 
I meet so few da peopla here; 
Ees only wan or two, but steell 
I look for more. I climb da heell 
An' travel down da hotta road. 



42 CARMINA 

Da street plan' ees heavy load; 
I am baygeen for feel da heat, 
An' so, bimeby, I stop an' seet 
Een shady place bayside da way. 
Oh, I am mad! I growl an' say: 
'^I mak' not moocha mon' to-day. 
Wat for you com', O! foola man! 
Where no wan hear your street pian' ?" 

But, den, w'at s'pose ees happen me? 
Firs' theeng you know, ees leetla tree 
Mak' funny noisa where eet stan's. 
So like as eef eet clap eets ban's! 
Den gentla feengers een da air 
Dey com' an' pull me by da hair; 
Ees som' thing een dees sweeta breeze 
Dat speak to me an' coax an' tease. 
An' den da sky, so wide, so blue, 
Eet seem to smile an' coax me, too. 
So all theengs speak, as eef dey say: 
"Com', let us have da music. Play!" 

I play wan tune — yes, two, free, four, 



C A R M I N A 43 

Like w'at I nevva do bayfore! 

I stop. Da sky cry: ''More!" An' den 

I play dem evra wan agen. 

So, too, I leeft my voice an' seeng. 

Da breeze say ''More!" to evratheeng. 

So all day long ees lika dat. 

O! 'Mericana man, I gat 

Som' curses an' som' food to eat. 

Wen I am play een ceety street, 

But here da sky, da breeze, da tree, 

Dey speak Eetalian to me! 

I mak' not moocha mon' to-day. 
So few ees hear da tunes I play, 
But where is reecher man dan I 
Dat play to breeze, an' tree, an' sky? 



44 C A R M I N A 



DA BESTA FRAND 

NO keeck my dog! Ha! don'ta dare! 
For jus' so queeck you do, 
You Meester 'Merican, I swear 

I brack your face for you! 
Eh? Wat? Well, den, dat's alia right, 

But let my Carlo be. 
Escusa me for gat excite' ; 

Com', look! I smila! See? 
I want be frand weeth you, eef dat 

You wanta be my frand. 
But Carlo ees bes' frand I gat 

Een all dees bigga land. 
An' he ees firsta 'Merican 

For com' w'en I am blue 
An' mak' me feela like man — 
I tal eet all to you. 

W'en I am com' from Eetaly, 

Jus' landa from da sheep, 
Som' thief he tak' my mon' from me 



CARMINA 45 

An' — presto ! — he ees skeep. 
An' w'en I find ees gon', oh, my! 

I scream, I pull my hair, 
An' justa run aroun' an' cry 

Like crazy man an' swear. 
W'en com'sa beeg poleecaman, 

I ask, I beg dat he 
Weell catcha thiefa eef he can — 

He justa laugh at me! 
I seet een street — I am so blue — 

An' justa hold my head 
An' theenk ''w'at am I gona do?" 

An' weesh dat I am dead. 
Som' peopla com' an' look, but dey 

Jus' smile an' notta care; 
So pretta soon dey gon' away 

An' leave me seettin' dere. 
How long I seet I no can tal; 

I pray, I cry, I curse — 
I bat you eef I go to hal 

I no could feel more worse! 
But while I seet ees som'theeng sof 

Dat touch my cheek an' w'en 



46 CARMINA 

I tak' my hand for brush eet off 

Eet touch my cheek agen. 
I look. Ees justa leetla cur 

Dat wag hees yellow tail! 
An' blood ees on hees yellow fur, 

An' dere ees old teen pail 
Tied on bayhind. Poor leetla pup! 

But steell he leeck my hand, 
As eef he say to me: ^' Cheer up! 

I gona be your fraud." 
I hug heem up! I am ashame' 

For let heem see dat he 
Ees justa dog, but alia same 

Ees better man dan me. 

So! dees ees Carlo, Meester Man; 

I introduce to you, 
Da true, da kinda 'Merican; 

Da first I ewa knew! 



CARMINA 47 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS 
WELL 

1AM so glad as I can be; 
I seeng, I dance, Signer! 
Ah! sooch a lucky man like me 

You nevva see bayfore! 
Eet ees so like w'en sky ees gray, 

Den — queeck! — da sun bust through 
An' drivin' all da cloud away — 

I tal eet all to you. 
My wife an' me we no can gat 

To mak' our minds da same, 
W'en leetla boy ees com', for w'at 

We gona call hees name. 
My Rosa, dat's my wife, she say 

She gotta besta right 
For call da keed her owna way, 

An' so, my frand, we fight. 
She say she want her fadder's name, 

"Giovanni," but, you see,' 
I want "Giacobbe" jus' da same, 



48 C A R M I N A 

Wheech ees da name for me. 
Wal, den dees theeng excite us so 

An' mak' so bigga fuss, 
Ees com' my reecha Uncla Joe 

For feexin' theengs for us. 
But w'en we find how hard eet seem 

For feex, he tal us: "Wal, 
I theenk ees best you calla heem 

^Giuseppe' for mysal'!" 
Dees mak' da case so bothersom', 

My brain ees eena whirl; 
I almost weesh w'en keed ees com' 

He gona be a girl. 
Eh? No, he was no borna w'en 

We fighta deesa way, 
No baby eesa leevin' den, 

But see! ees com' to-day 
Not only wan of heem, but three! 

Eh? '^Treeplets?" Yes, Signor. 
Ah! soocha lucky man like me 

You nevva see bayfore! 



CARMINA 49 



THE LABORER AND HIS 
HIRE 

HALLO! Signor, I ain't see you 
For manny, manny day. 
I wondra moocha w'at you do 

All time you was away, 
All deesa seexa mont' or more 

Dat you are gon' from home. 
I s'pose you went out Wes', Signor — 

Eh ? No ? You was een Rome ? 
An' Pareess, too? Wal, wal, my frand, 

W'at joy you musta feel 
To see all dose so granda land 

Where you have been. But steell 
You musta worka longa while 

For save da mon' to go. 
Eh? Deal een stocks ees mak' your pile? 

Escuse! I deed not know. 
I weesh dat dere was soocha treep 

For Dagoman Hke me; 
Ees manny now dat taka sheep 



50 C A R M I N A 

For home een Eetaly — 
Eh ? w'at ees dat ? You say dees men 

Are mean as dirt een street 
For com' an' maka mon' an' den 

To run back home weeth eet? 
I am su'prise weeth you, Signor, 

For hear you talk hke dees. 
Da mon' we gat by workin' for 

We do weeth as we pleass. 
You say dey leave no theeng bayhind 

For deesa mon' dey mak' ; 
Escuse, Signor, but you weell find 

Dey pay for all dey tak'. 
Dey pay for eet weeth hard a toil, 

Weeth gooda road an' street, 
Weeth crops dat spreenga from da soil 

An' geeve you food for eat, 
Weeth wheat dat mak' your bread so good, 

Weeth grape dat mak' your wines. 
An', yes, dey pay eet weeth deir blood 

On railroads, een da mines! 
W'at deed you geeve for w'at you mak' 

Een deesa stocka deal? 



C A R M I N A 51 

Not wan good theeng for all you tak', 

Not wan, Signor! But steell 
You say dees men no gotta right 

To do da theeng dey do. 

Escusa me for gat excite'. 

I would shak' hands weeth you. 
Ees Creesmas'-time, so let us be 

Good 'Mericana men. 
Shak' hands! Eet ees a joy to me 

For see you home agen. 



52 C A R M I N A 



BETWEEN TWO LOVES 

1 GOTTA love for Angela, 
I love Carlotta, too. 
I no can marry both o' dem, 
So w'at I gona do? 

Oh, Angela ees pretta girl, 
She gotta hair so black, so curl, 
An' teeth so white as anytheeng. 
An' oh, she gotta voice to seeng, 
Dat mak' your hearta feel eet must 
Jomp up an' dance or eet weell bust. 
An' alia time she seeng, her eyes 
Dey smila like Italia's skies. 
An' makin' flirtin' looks at you — 
But dat ees all w'at she can do. 

Carlotta ees no gotta song, 

But she ees twice so big an' strong 

As Angela, an' she no look 

So beautiful — but she can cook. 



CARMINA 53 

You oughta see her carry wood! 
I tal you w'at, eet do you good. 
Wen she ees be som'body's wife 
She worka hard, you bat my Hfe! 
She newa gattin* tired, too — 
But dat ees all w'at she can do. 

Oh, my! I weesh dat Angela 

Was strong for carry wood, 
Or else Carlotta gotta song 

An' looka pretta good. 
I gotta love for Angela, 

I love Carlotta, too. 
I no can marry both o' dem, 

So w'at I gona do? 



54 C A R M I N A 



THE APRIL WIND 

EH? Wat? You theenk I looka 
change' ? 
Ah! so I am, an' eet ees strange. 
My frand, you evva hear me growl 
For dat da Northa weend ees howl 

An' sweep Broadway weeth snow? 
Ah! no. Baycause I am so tough 
An' hard, dough weenter storms was rough, 
Dey no could mak' me colda 'nough, 

How mooch dey steeng an' blow. 

Yet here am I, dat was so strong 
For laugh at weends all weenter long, 
Now lika babe, too soft an' weak 
To fight wan leetla weend dat sneak 

Aroun' dees place to-day. 
No 'Mericana weend ees blow 
Like dees bay fore. Eet com' an' go 
An' catch at me an' teass me so 

Eet steal my heart away. 



CARMINA 55 

Eet sneaka from dat leetla street — 
Ha! dat's eet now! You feelin' eet? 
Tak^ off your hat an' lat eet play 
All through your hair — so ! deesa way — 

Ah! now ees gon'! Dat's all. 
Eh? Wat? ''Jus' breeza from da sea?" 
Ah! no, ees more dan dat to me; 
Eet eesa voice from Eetaly 

Dat call, an' call, an' call! 



56 C A R M I N A 



THREE TO ONE 

SIGNOR, remember yestaday, 
How mad I am baycause you say 
Dat nearly all Eetalian 
Ees good-for-nothing, lazy man? 
Ah! lees'en, pleass, an' you weell be 
Ashame' for w'at you say to me. 
Wen I have tal you w'at I see. 
Eef you no theenk I speaka true 
I got som' weetness here for you; 
Here ees not only wan but three: 

Antonio, 

Gregorio 

An' me. 

I speak for all an' tal of eet; 
To-day ees com' een deesa street 
Beeg stronga man for deeg da tranch. 
You theenk ees mebbe Dootch or Franch, 
Dees granda, bigga, stronga man? 
Ah! no, eet ees Eetalian! 



CARMINA 57 

He no can speaka 'Merican, 

But, oh! da way he drive da peeck 

An' sweeng da spade, so strong, so queeck, 

Ees mak' us proud as we can be — 

Antonio, 

Gregorio 

An' me. 

You theenk ees lazy man dat weell 
So work, from earla morn' onteell 
Da stars ees shina from da sky, 
He pile seex hondra spadeful high 
Bayside da tranch w'en he ees through — 
Eh? how I know dat dees ees true? 
Ha! now is where I catcha you! 
All day, right here een deesa street, 
We seet an' watch heem doin' eet! 
Wan weetness? No! here eesa three: 

Antonio, 

Gregorio 

An' me. 



58 CARMINA 



THE ITALIAN MOON 

YOUR '^ honey-moon"? Wat ees eet? 
Eh? 
Eet ees da ^'moon of love" you say? 
Wal, mebbe so, Signor, but oh, 
You don'ta know, you don'ta know! 
You could not know onteell you see 
Da moon dat shine een Eetaly. 
Here eesa moon, but eet ees cold; 
Eetalian moon ees ball of gold! 
So warm, so sof, you wondra why 
Eet steeck together een da sky; 
You theenk eet gona malt an' run 
Like lumpa butter een da sun. 
So, too, eets — w'at you call? — eets ^'beam" 
Dat streama down on you, dey seem 
So theeck, so reecha, lika cream. 
An' you can feel dem on your tongue 
Wen you are seeng your lova song. 
An' warm an' sweet you feel dem slide 
Right down your throat, onteell eenside 



CARMINA 59 

Your heart dey rest, an' eet ees hold 
No longer blood, but justa gold! 
You cannot know of love onteell 
Sooch moonlight een your heart you feel. 
Wat for you smile? Eet eesa true! 
For so, w'en I am young like you, 
Wan night weeth Rosa by da shore 
Of NapoH I felt, Signor. 
You say dees moon dat shine to-night 
Ees gooda 'nough for you ? All right. 
I s'pose dat you are love your wife, 
But oh, Signor, you bat my life. 
You eat her up eef you could be 
Where shines da moon een Eetaly. 



6o C A R M I N A 



HIS INTERESTED FRIEND 

ESCUSE me dat I don'ta mak' 
You walcom' here, Signer. 
You see, I 'fraid for mak' meestak'; 

I gotta stung bay fore. 
Ees notta many 'Merican — 

Oh, vera, vera few — 
Dat com' to dees peanutta-stan' 

An' say ^^ Hallo!" like you. 
You speak so fine, you know so mooch, 

Ees hard for me to see 
Wat for you want be frand weeth sooch 

A dumba man like me. 
Las' week grand man like you ees com' 
An' maka frandly so. 
I am so proud — but oh, so dumb — 

I tal heem all I know. 
He ees so eenterest een me 

An' speak so kind, so sweet, 
I am so proud as I can be 

An' brag a leetla beet. 



CARMINA 6i 

I tal how mooch I mak' a day 

An' w'at I savin', too, 
An' weeth my bigga mout' I say 

More theengs dan w'at ees true. 
Now, who you s'pose ees dees unknown, 

Good, kinda frand to me? 
Ees presidant for bank dat own 

All deesa property! 
To-day dees kinda man he sent 

To me hees agent man. 
To say I gotta pay more rent 

For dees peanutta-stan'. 

Bay cause I mak' so beeg meestak' 

An' gotta stung bayfore, 
Escuse me eef I don'ta mak' 

Mooch talk weeth you, Signor. 



62 CARMINA 



PADRE DOMINEEC 

PADRE Domineec McCann 
He ees great beeg Irish man. 
He ees growla w'en he speak. 
Like he gona go for you 
Jus' for busta you in two. 

My! he talk so rough, so queeck, 
You weell weesha you could be 
Som' where elsa w'en you see 
Padre Domineec. 

Padre Domineec McCann 
Stop at dees peanutta-stan' 

W'en my leetla boy ees seeck; 
Talk so rough he mak' me cry, 
Say ees besta boy should die 

So he go to Heaven queeck! 
He ees speak so cold to me 
Nevva more I wanta see 

Padre Domineec. 



CARMINA 63 

Den gran' doctor com'. Ees queer! 
Wen I ask who sand heem here, 

He jus' smile an' weell no speak 
Only justa for to say: 
^'You no gotta cent to pay, 

I gon' feex dees boy dat's seeck." 

^ ^ ^ :^ ^ -^ :^ 

beeg-hearta man, an' true! 

1 am gattin' on to you, 
Padre Domineec! 



64 CARMINA 



EEN NAPOLI 

HERE een Noo Yorka, where am I 
Seence I am landa las' July, 
All gray an' ogly ees da sky, 

An' cold as eet can be. 
But steell so long I maka mon'. 
So long ees worka to be done, 
I can forgat how shines da sun 
Een Napoli. 

But oh, w'en pass da boy dat sal 
Da violets, an' I can smal 
How sweet dey are, I no can tal 

How seeck my heart ees be. 
I no can work, how mooch I try. 
But only seet an' wondra why 
I could not justa leeve an' die 

Een Napoli. 



C A R M I N A 65 



GIUSEPPE TO HIS DOG 

HI! Carlo, jompa down from dere, 
You lazy dog! Com', see, 
Dees jontleman would have dat chair 

For seet an' talk weeth me. 
Eh? w'at! you gona growl an' bite? 

Aha ! I show you den — 
Don't go, Signor. Wal, alia right; 
I hope you com' agen. 
******* 

Ha! Carlo, w'at you theenka dat? 

You drive da man away, 
You lazy, ogly lumpa fat, 

You good-for-nothing! Eh? 
Seence time w'en I was kind to you 

An' peeck you from da street 
Ees not wan leetla theeng you do 

For earn da food you eat. 
Eef you would even chase da rat 

You might be worth to keep, 
But, no, you are so dumb, so fat, 



66 C A R M I N A 

You jus' can eat an' sleep. 
How dare you do sooch ogly treeck 

An' growla so like dat? 
Jus' wait onteell I gat my steeck — 

Now, see w'at you weell gat! 
Eh? Don'ta roll your eyes at me; 

Keep steell your taila, too, 
No leeck my handa! Don't you see 

Dat I am cross weeth you ? 
Ha! Stop! You theenk dees mak' me feel 

You love me like you should ? 
Not mootch! Jus' keep dat taila steell 
An' I weell beat you good. 
You theenk baycause I gat so few 

Da frauds dat lova me, 
I am afraid for whippin' you? 

Jus' close your eyes an' see! 
Aha! so now you run away. 

O! wal, dees steeck weell keep; 
I gona beat you good som' day — 

Som' day w'en you are 'sleep. 



CARMINA 67 



THE HARBINGER 

EES com' da spreeng!" da peopla say, 
"An' weenter-time ees gon' away." 
I hope ees true, baycause, you know, 
I am so seeck weeth ice an' snow; 
I am so seeck eenside my soul 
For gotta buy so moocha coal, 
An' overcoat, an' warma clo'es, 
An' hankacheef for blow my nose. 

"Ees com' da spreeng!" da peopla say. 
An' so I am com' out to-day 
For justa see eef eet ees true. 
An' play da musica for you. 
Da weend ees colda 'nough for mak' 
Me wanta stop an' gona back, 
But som'theeng w'eesper een my ear: 
''Ees com' da spreeng! Da spreeng ees 
here!" 



68 CARMINA 

^'Ees com' da spreeng!" da peopla say 
Dat passa by an' hear me play 
''Lucia" on my street-pian'. 
''O! see da Dago music-man!" 
Dey say: ''dat's mean da weenter's past 
An' spreeng ees gattin' here at last." 
I nevva hear sooch funny theeng; 
Dey taka me for sign of spreeng! 



C A R M I N A 69 



AN A F T E R-D INNER 
THOUGHT 

OH! my, Signer, how seeck I feel 
From som'theeng I have ate; 
I had wan oyster een my meal 

Dat wassa catch' too late! 
Oh! my, dat soocha leetla theeng 

Could mak' so bigga change! 
Dees morna I could dance an' seeng, 

But now I feel so strange, 
I no can 'tand to beezaness. 

But seeta theenkin' here; 
An' w'at I theenk you nevva guess — 

Eet ees so vera queer. 
I theenk upon dat greata man 

Dat ees da first to com' 
For findin' deesa granda Ian' — 

Creestoforo Colomb'. 
Ees Dagoman like me, you know — 

Eh? Yes, but wait, Signor; 
I tal you som'theeng, mebbe so, 



70 C A R M I N A 

You nevva hear bay fore. 
I theenk upon Colombo w'en 

He beg hees Queen dat she 
Would justa geeve heem sheeps an* men 

For help heem cross da sea; 
But could no gat da theengs he need, 

How mooch he coax an' beg, 
Onteell she see da theeng he deed 

Weeth justa leetla egg. 
Aha! my frand, so you have read 

An' know da story, too? 
He Stan' dat egg upon eets head. 

Like no wan else could do! 
An' so da Queen she clap her ban's 

An' tal Colombo den: 
"Now you can go for find dose lan's; 

I geeve you sheeps an' men." 
You know w'at happen after dat, 

Ees notheeng more to say; 
But here ees queera thought I gat 

Eenside my head to-day! 
Su'pose — I ask you now — su'pose 

Dat egg he bust was bad! 



CARMINA 71 

You theenk da Queen would hold her nose 

An' smila just as glad ? 
You theenk she gona tal Colomb' 

She geeve heem sheeps an' sooch 
An' evratheeng he need to com' ? 

You bat my life, not mooch! 
I tal you eef dat egg was bad 

As deesa taste I gat, 
Colombo, mebbe, woulda had 

Sooch troubla after dat 
Dees Ian' where now we are so glad 

Would no be founda yat! 



72 C A R M I N A 



YEARNING 

1EEN love weeth Mag McCue. 
Ah! so sweeta 'Merican! 
Evra day I see her, too, 
Pass by dees peanutta-stan'. 
Once ees tal me smarta man: 
^'Eef a girl ees smile at you, 

Wavin' deesa way her han', 
Dat'sa mean she love you true.'' 

Oh, my leetla lady dear, 
Lasta time you passa here 

An' you smile upon me so, 
Eet ees mak' me feel so queer. 

Why ees dat, I Hka know? 

I een love weeth Mag McCue. 

Ah! so sweeta 'Merican! 
I could know w'at I would do 

Eef she was Eetalian. 

But ees hard to ondrastan' 



CARMINA 73 

Eef she really love me true 

Wen she smile an' wave her han' 
Lika lasta night she do. 

Oh, my leetla lady dear, 
Nexta time you passa here 

Would you mak' me glad an' proud ? 
Don'ta wave your han' so queer, 
Pleassa, don'ta smile so loud. 



74 C A R M I N A 



GIAC FINELLI 

W'EN Giac Finelli maka joke 
I laugha teell my sides ees broke. 
I weesh som'time dat you could be 
Jus' near enough to heem to see — 
You don'ta gotta be so near 
For dat you musta seet an' hear — 
Eet ees not dat you gotta pay 
Mooch notice to da words he say, 
Baycause een sooch artista way 
He tweest hees face an' move da han' 
All theengs ees plain to ondrastan', 
He ees so smarta Dagoman. 
Oh! my, your sides dey would be broke 
Wen Giac Finelli maka joke. 

Two men dat play at cards wan night 

Ees got so mad an' so excite' 

Dey pull their knives an' gona fight. 

Up jompa Giac Finelli den 

An' eemitate dose fightin' men. 



CARMINA 75 

He growl an' stampa 'roun' da place 
An' mak' sooch tweestin' of da face, 
Now justa lika deesa man 
An' now so like da othra wan, 
He mak' dem look sooch foolish sight 
Dey laugh an' jus' forgat to fight. 
Oh! my, eef dat time you could be 
Jus' near enough to heem to see. 
You laugha teell your sides ees broke 
Wen Giac Finelli maka joke. 



76 CARMINA 



FROM A CAR WINDOW 

AH! yes, I been away to-day; 
You no could guess how far away. 
I s'pose you laugh eef I should say 
How mooch delight I had for be 
Wan leetla while een Eetaly — 
Ah! yes, I see you laugh at me. 
W'at use for tal you more, my frand ? 
You justa no could ondrastand. 

No, w'at'sa use, my frand ? Eh ? Wal, 

Eet ees not mooch dat I can tal. 

I go to-day for ride een train, 

An' now here am I back again! 

Eh? How I gat to Eetaly? 

Eef you had been een train weeth me 

Here eesa theeng dat you would see, 

Eef queeck an' sharpa weeth your eye 

You catch eet while da train go by: 

A whita house, a beet of land 



C A R M I N A 77 

Where piles of ripa corn ees stand, 

An' een baytween weeth leaves so green 

Ees shine da softa golda skeen 

Of — how-you-call ? — da ^^pumpakeen." 

Here on wan side by fence where twine 

Da purpla grape so fat weeth wine, 

Ees Stan' da man dat keep da place. 

You see how brown hees han's an' face, 

How brown weeth sun da hat he wear 

On top hees curia blacka hair, 

How brown weeth dusta from da eart' 

Hees blacka pants, hees pinka shirt? 

An' dat mus' be hees wife dat stoop 

For feeda cheeckens eena coop. 

You evva see more brighta red 

Dan hankacheef dat's on her head? 

Oh, look da sky! I ask you, too. 

You evva see so granda blue? 

You evva see sooch sun dat roll 

So like shiny brassa bowl 

Een bottom side of sky an' speell 

Eets gold eensides against da heell? 

Look! here ees com' along da road 



78 C A R M I N A 

Som' boys an' girls weeth wagonload 
Dat dey have gathra from de fieP. 
Oh, happy, happy girls an' boys! 
Eef train no mak' so moocha noise 
You woulda hear da sweeta song 
Dey singin' while dey marcha 'long. 

;H * * * * * 

But even so, w'en all so dear 

You can no longer see an' hear, 

W'en queeck ees pass da flyin' train 

An' all ees 'Merican again. 

You steell can feel da song dey seeng, 

So lika leetla leevin' theeng, 

Dat move around eenside your breast 

An' justa weell no lat you rest — 

Eh? Wat ees dat? You don'ta see 
How I have been een Eetaly? 
Ah! wal, deed I no say, my frand, 
You justa no could ondrastand ? 



CARMINA 79 



DA LEETLA BOY 

DA spreeng ees com'; but oh, da joy 
Eet ees too late! 
He was so cold, my leetla boy, 
He no could wait. 

I no can count how manny week. 
How manny day, dat he ees seeck; 
How manny night I seet an' hold 
Da leetla hand dat was so cold. 
He was so patience, oh, so sweet! 
Eet hurts my throat for theenk of eet; 
An' all he evra ask ees w'en 
Ees gona com' da spreeng agen. 
Wan day, wan brighta sunny day. 
He see, across da alleyway. 
Da leetla girl dat's livin' dere 
Ees raise her window for da air, 
An' put outside a leetla pot 
Of — w'at-you-call ? — forgat-me-not. 
So smalla flower, so leetla theeng! 



8o CARMINA 

But steell eet mak' hees hearta seeng: 

''Oh, now, at las^ ees com' da spreeng! 

Da leetla plant ees glad for know 

Da sun ees com' for mak' eet grow. 

So, too, I am grow warm and strong." 

So lika dat he seeng hees song. 

But, ah! da night com' down an' den 

Da weenter ees sneak back agen, 

An' een da alley all da night 

Ees fall da snow, so cold, so white, 

An' cover up da leetla pot 

Of — w'at-you-call ? — forgat-me-not. 

All night da leetla hand I hold 

Ees grow so cold, so cold, so cold! 

Da spreeng ees com' ; but oh, da joy 

Eet ees too late! 
He was so cold, my leetla boy, 

He no could wait. 



H I B E R N I C E 



THE MELTIN' O' THE SNOW 

TIS cold th'-day/' said John McCann, 
Upon the road to Mass. 
The sorra word said Mary Ann, 

But stopped to let him pass; 
Fur, shure, he was the bold young man 
An' she the modest lass. 

'Twas not himself that would be balked 

So aisily, an' so 
He timed his steps wid hers an' walked 

Beside her, through the snow. 
But, oh, she passed upon her way, 

So modest an' so prim, 
'Twas little he could think to say, 

An' less she said to him. 
But this he said when they were nigh 

The little chapel door: 

"A colder land, a colder sky, 

I have not seen before, 
83 



84 C A R M I N A 

Than this, for all its store of gold, 

For all it is so grand. 
I never knew the feel o' cold 

At home, in Ireland; 
But here, in these forsaken parts. 

The snows, the bitter storm. 
Creep even into Irish hearts 

That should be kind and warm. 
Oh, kind the maidens, Mary Ann, 

Who tread the Irish grass. 
This blessid day!" said John McCann, 

Upon the road to Mass. 

Small heed is where the heart is not. 

An' so, 'tis safe to say, 
'Twas little that the pastor got 

From Mary Ann that day; 
No ears had she fur anny word 

But jisht that bold young man's. 
An', faix, the only thing she heard 

Was when he read the banns 
For two true hearts that soon would be 

In happy wedlock one. 



CARMINA 85 

Then out she passed an' home went she 

Beneath the winter sun, 
An' knew before she turned her head 

Who was it walked beside. 
^^Ye heard the banns? Ah! well," he said, 

^^ There's one has found a bride. 
Thank God! one Irish heart is sweet. 

Though all the one I know 
That makes my own lone heart to beat 

Is cold an' hard as snow." 
^'But now 'tis softer, John McCann" — 

Ochone! the modest lass! — 
''The snow, I mean," blushed Mary Ann, 

Upon the road from Mass. 

Oh, bells were on the breeze that ran 

Along the buddin' grass. 
An' Spring, on tip-toe, waved her han' 

Th'-day to see them pass, 
When John an' Mary Ann McCann 

Came down the road from Mass. 



86 CARMINA 



THE IRISH NATIONAL 
BIRD 

GOOD luck to the Eagle, America's 
bird, 
That stands for the land o' the free! 
Faix, I'm not the wan to be sayin' a word 

That'd ruffle its feathers. Not me! 
I'm proud o' the bird as I'm proud o' the 
land. 
An' glad to be under its wing. 
But there is another bird aiqually grand 

Whose praises I'm wishful to sing. 
Now let ye not pucker yer face wid a smile, 

'Tis soberest truth that we've got 
A national bird in the Emerald Isle 
That's aisily king o' the lot! 

Aye! ^' national bird." He is certainly that. 

Though others may claim him at times, 
He's busiest most wid the fortunes of Pat 
At home, an' in far-away climes. 



CARMINA 87 

An', faix, 'tis the Irish that love him the best 

An' welcome his favors the most; 
The man's not true Irish that has him for 
guest 

Widout feelin' proud to be host. 
He seeks out the Irish regardless of place — 

At home or abroad in New York — 
So here's to the National Bird of the Race! 

Here's ^'hip, hip, hurrah!" for the stork! 



8S C A R M I N A 



THE IRISH BIRD-CHARMER 

WID more or less o' tuneful grace, 
As fits a Celtic singer, 
I've praised the *^ great bird of our race," 

The stork, the blessin'-bringer. 
When first to my poor roof he came, 

How sweetly he was sung to! 
I called him every dacint name 

That I could lay my tongue to. 
But glory be! that praise from me 

So pleased the simple crayture 
His visits here have come to be 

A sort o' second nature. 
I'm glad to see him now an' then. 

But, glory be to Heaven! 
If here he isn't back again. 

An' this is number seven! 

Och! though this gift o' song may be 

In manny ways a blessin', 
It brings some popularity 



CARMINA 89 

That gets to be disthressin'. 
Now, mind, I love this Irish bird — 

We couldn't live widout him — 
An', shure, I'll not take back a word 

I ever said about him. 
But now when all these mouths to feed 

Ate up our little savin's. 
The birds whose visits most we need 

Are ould Elijah's ravens. 
Begor' ! if they were 'round these days 

An' I could make them hear me, 
I'd sing them such a song o' praise 

'Twould keep them always near me. 



90 CARMINA 



CORDAYLIA O' THE ALLEY 

AT the corner o' the alley 
Sits Cordaylia McNally, 
At the corner o' the alley where the people 
come an' go, 
In a penitent procession, 
Passin' to an' from confession 
In the ould Church of St. Joseph that was 
builded long ago. 
Oh, 'tis well she knows there's many 
Has the charitable penny 
More convaynient to their fingers then than 
any other day, 
An' her tongue it is so sooth'rin' 
An' so mastherful deludth'rin' 
There are mortial few whatever she'll be 
lettin' get away. 

For, oh, the Irish eyes of her 

They twinkle at ye so, 
Ye hate to think the sighs of her 



CARMINA 91 

Are part o' the disguise of her, 

So, faix, she has yer penny gathered in 
before ye know. 

There^s small use in walkin' fasther 
In the hope o' sneakin' past her, 
Shure, she'll let ye go, unnoticed, wid yer 
little load o' sin. 
But, O! man, she has ye spotted, 
An' yer penny good as potted. 
Fur she knows that ye'll be softer comin' 
out than goin' in! 
Fur there's nothin' but good nature 
In the m'anest Irish crayture 
Whin he feels the soul inside o' him is 
cleansed of iv'ry blot. 
Should Cordaylia then address ye 
Wid her sootherin' ''God bless ye!" 
'Tis not you will dare to judge if she's de- 
servin' it or not. 

For, oh, the Irish eyes of her 
They twinkle at ye so. 



^)• 



92 C A R M I N A 



Ye hate to think the sighs of her 
Are part o' the disguise of her, 
So, faix, she has yer penny gathered in 
before ye know. 



CARMINA 93 



HEARTLESS SHEILA SHEA 

SHURE, the parish is so quiet, 
Sheila Shea, 
All the folks are saddened by it 

In a way, 
An' the whole o' thim are waitin' 
Fur the joy o' celebratin' 

Somethin' lively; like a weddin', let us say. 
Shure, ye know it is the duty 
Of a girl that's blessed wid beauty 
To be careful not to let it waste away. 

D'ye hear me. Sheila Shea? 
Shure, how can ye be so gay, 
Wid such quiet all about ye, that ye sing 
the livelong day? 

Has no sense o' sorrow found ye, 

Sheila Shea? 
Faix, the world revolves around ye, 

An' it's gray. 



94 C A R M I N A 

Still, the spell will soon be broken, 
Fur, although ye have not spoken 

Sorra word o' what I've begged of ye to 
say, 
If ye will not grace a weddin', 
'Tis mesel' will soon be dead, an' 
There's some comfort in a funeral, anny- 
way. 

D'ye hear me. Sheila Shea? 
Shure, how can ye be so gay, 
Wid my breakin' heart so near ye that ye 
sing the livelong day? 



CARMINA 95 



THE SONG OF THE 
THRUSH 

AH! the May was grand this mornin'! 
Shure, how could I feel forlorn in 
Such a land, when tree and flower tossed 
their kisses to the breeze? 
Could an Irish heart be quiet 
While the Spring was runnin' riot, 
An' the birds of free America were singin' 
in the trees? 
In the songs that they were singin' 
No familiar note was ringin', 
But I strove to imitate them an' I whistled 
like a lad. 
Oh, my heart was warm to love them 
For the very newness of them — 
For the ould songs that they helped me to 
forget — an' I was glad. 

So I mocked the feathered choir 
To my hungry heart's desire, 



96 C A R M I N A 

An' I gloried in the comradeship that made 
their joy my own, 
Till a new note sounded, stillin' 
All the rest. A thrush was trillin'! 
Ah! the thrush I left behind me in the fields 
about Athlone! 
Where, upon the whitethorn swayin'. 
He was minstrel of the Mayin', 
In my days of love an' laughter that the 
years have laid at rest; 
Here again his notes were ringin' ! 
But I'd lost the heart for singin' — 
Ah! the song I could not answer was the 
one I knew the best. 



C A R M I N A 97 



THE OULD APPLE WOMAN 

WID her basket of apples comes Nora 
McHugh, 
Wid her candies an' cakes an' wan thing 
an' another, 
But the best thing she brings to commind 
her to you 
Is the smile in her eyes that no throuble 
can smother. 
An' the wit that's at home in the tip of her 
tongue 
Has a freshness unknown to her candy 
and cake; 
Though her wares had been stale since ould 
Nora was young, 
There is little complaint you'd be carin' 
to make. 
Well I mind, on a day, I complained of a 
worm 
That I found in an apple, near bitten in 
two. 



98 CARMINA 

^'But suppose ye had bit it, an' where'd be 
the harm? 
For, shure, this isn't Friday," said Nora 
McHugh. 

O Nora McHugh, you've the blarneyin' 

twist in you. 
Where is the anger could drame o' resistin' 
you? 
Faix, we'll be sp'ilin' you, 
Blind to the guile in you. 
While there's a smile in you, 
Nora McHugh. 

It was Mistress De Vere, that's so proud of 
her name, 
Fell to boastin' wan day of her kin in the 
peerage — 
Though there's some o' thim same, years 
ago whin they came 
To this glorious land, was contint wid the 
steerage — 



C A R M I N A 99 

An' she bragged of her ancistry, Norman 
an' Dane, 
An' the like furrin ancients that's thought 
to be swell. 
"Now, I hope," said ould Nora, "ye'll not 
think me vain, 
Fur it's little I care fur ancistry mesel'; 
But wid all o' your pedigree, ma'am, I be- 
lieve 
'Tis mesel' can go back a bit further 
than you, 
Fur in me you perceive a descindant of Eve, 
The first apple woman," said Nora Mc- 
Hugh. 

O Nora McHugh, sich owdacious frivolity! 
How can you dare to be jokin' the quality? 

Still, we'll be sp'iHn' you, 

Bhnd to the guile in you, 

While there's a smile in you, 
Nora McHugh. 



loo CAR M I N A 



THE MOURNER 

OUT o' bed of a mornin' was Mary 
McCroal 
Before ever a sunbeam had cut its first 
caper, 
An' had fetched from her door-step her bit 
of a roll 
An' her wee jar o' milk an' her mornin' 
newspaper. 
Then, the while she was wettin' her kittle 
o' tay, 
She'd the paper forninst her ould specks 
as she read 
What she held '^the importantest news o' 
the day" — 
An' that same was no more nor the list o' 
the dead. 
She could aisily wait fur the bit an' the 
sup, 
But the hunger fur news she could never 
control, 



C A R M I N A loi 

Readin' wan colyume down an' the nixt 
colyume up, 
Till: ''Here's wan at St. Ann's," cried 
ould Mary McCroal, 
"May the Lord rest his soul!" 

She'd make way wid her tay in two minyutes 
or less, 
An' she'd ready the table an' lay the cloth 
on it, 
An' she'd deck hersel' out in her dacint 
black dress 
An' her cashymere shawl an' her ould 
velvet bonnet. 
Then 'twas off at a trot to the Church o' 
St. Ann — 
To be there when the corpse an' the 
mourners came in. 
Shure, what odds if she never had heard 
o' the man, 
Nor had knowledge at all of a wan of his kin ? 
Faix, 'twas little, indeed,' that the corpse 
needed care. 



I02 C A R M I N A 

An' no bar to his soul on the way to its 
goal, 
If no wan o' the mourners there bowin' in 
prayer 
Prayed as strong or as long as ould Mary 
McCroal : 
"May the Lord rest his soul!'' 

Ye might canvass the parish; not wan on 
the list — 
Not a wan — but would tell ye he couldn't 
remember 
Anny funeral Mass that she ever had missed, 
Under roses o' June or in snows o' De- 
cember; 
An' there's some that'd smile, recollectin' 
the sight 
Of a red flannel petticoat, aye! an' a show 
Of a dacint clane stockin', ould-fashioned 
an' white, 
Whiskin' over the graves in the dust or 
the snow. 
There was some might have said, wid a 
shake o' the head. 



C A R M I N A 103 

She was jisht an ould crow. But ye'd 
find, on the whole, 
Not a wan o' thim all, when they buried 
their dead. 
But was glad o' the prayers of ould Mary 
McCroal. 
May the Lord rest her soul! 

Aye! 'Hhe Lord rest her soul." Ah! the 
church was so bare 
When she lay there th'-day, fur the 
mourners were few. 
But, shure, why should she care that the 
only wans there 
Were the sexton, the priest, an' ould woman 
or two? 
An' what odds if the prayers at her passin' 
were brief 
As the ride to the grave, when those prayers 
had been said? 
An' what need was there here fur the trap- 
pin's o' grief? 
Fur, shure, death was a joy to this friend 
o' the dead. 



I04 C A R M r N A 

Ah! 'tis well to believe that the prayers that 
she prayed 
Fur the many before her who shared of 
her dole, 
They have gathered together an' woven 
an' made 
As a ladder o' light fur ould Mary Mc- 
Croal. 
May the Lord rest her soul! 



C A R M I N A 105 



OULD PHELIM McKEONE 

WAS there iver a man, 
Since creation began, 
Wid such lack of a dacint respect for his own, 
So conthrary of mind, 
Wid a tongue so unkind, 
As the plague of our parish, ould Phelim 
McKeone? 



We'd a meetin' last night fur ^'Home Rule 
an' the Right," 
To discuss ways an' means an' to hit on 
a plan 
That'd make fur success in the glorious 
fight, 
An' to name fur our leader the logical 
man. 
Now, of course we were blessed wid the 
gift o' the gab, 
An' we gave our opinions 'fur this an' fur 
that. 



io6 C A R M I N A 

There was orators there Hke O'Kane an' 
McNab, 
Who were wilHn' to fight at the drop o' 
the hat, 
An' so fixed in their notions that nayther 
would give, 
Fur they'd have no opinion was right but 
their own. 
Whin ''Hurrah fur the British, an' long may 
they live!" 
At the top of his voice yelled ould Phelim 
McKeone. 

"Aye! an' long may they live," yelled ould 

PheHm McKeone, 
''Fur if British heads failed ye whin 

lookin' fur fight, 
Ye'd have nothin to do but be whackin' 

yer own. 
An' whoever ye choose fur yer leader 

th'-night, 
Shure, he has me condohnce on winnin' the 

place. 



C A R M I N A 107 

Fur there's little o' joy or o' p'ace that 
he'll know, 
Wid the jealous designs o' the rest o' the 
race, 
Who the minute he's up will be pulKn' 
him low. 
Aye! 'tis jealousy's streak in the red o' yer 
blood 
That has checked us an' kept us from 
knowin' the joy 
An' the blessin' of Ireland free, as we should. 
Oh! I've waited these seventy year, man 
an' boy, 
But I've waited in vain, to be greetin' the day 
Whin the land that I love should come 
into its own. 
So ^Hurrah fur the British that scorn ye!' 
I say, 
An' I bid ye good night!" cried ould Phe- 
lim McKeone. 

Was there iver a man. 
Since creation began. 



io8 C A R M I N A 

Wid such lack of a dacint respect for his 
own, 
So conthrary of mind, 
Wid a tongue so unkind. 
As the plague of our parish, ould Phelim 
McKeone? 



C A R M I N A 109 



THE IRISH BACHELOR 

HERE fur yer pity or scorn, I'm pre- 
sintin' ye 

Jerry McGlone. 
Trustin' the Kfe of him will be previntin' ye 

Marrin' yer own. 
Think of a face wid a permanint fixture of 
Looks that are always suggistin' a mixture of 
Limmons an' vinegar. There! ye've a pic- 
ture of 

Jerry McGlone. 

Faix, there is nothin' but sourest gloom in this 

Jerry McGlone. 
Chris'mas joy, anny joy, niver finds room in 
this 

Crayture of stone. 
Cynical gloom is the boast an' the pride of him, 
An' if a laugh iver did pierce the hide of him, 
Faix, I beheve 'twould immajiate, inside of 
him, 

Change to a groan. 



no C A R M I N A 

Whisht! now, an' listen. I'll tell ye the 
throuble wid 

Jerry McGlone. 
He preferred single life rather than double 
wid 

Molly Malone. 
Think of it! Think of an Irishman tarrpn' 
While there's a purty girl wishful fur mar- 

ryin' ! 
Arrah! no wonder the divils are harryin' 
Jerry McGlone. 

Ah! but there's few o' the race but would 
scorn to be 

Jerry McGlone. 
Shure, we all know that a Celt is not born to 
be 

Livin' alone. 
Oh, but we're grateful (I spake for the laity) 
Grateful fur women the bountiful Deity 
Dowers wid beauty an' virtue an' gaiety, 

All for our own! 



CARMINA III 



A SONG OF RICHES 

I'VE a dollar in me pocket 
An' wid wealth o' health I'm blest, 
An' me pixture's in a locket 

On a pretty colleen's breast. 
An' I'll be as rich th'-morrow, 

If the Lord continues kind, 
So there isn't room for sorrow 

In a corner of me mind. 
What the future may be bearin' 

I have little care to know, 
Shure, we'll none of us be carin' 

In a thousand years or so. 

Ye have spoke the word that's bound ye, 
Kate machree, to be me wife; 

Here's two arms to put around ye 
An' to work for ye for life. 

An' to make a home that's pleasant, 
Ay, an' fit to have ye in. 

Faix, there's no time Hke the present. 



112 C A R M I N A 

Katie darlin' to begin. 
Then, through fair an' stormy weather, 

If we're dacint here below, 
Shure, we still may be together 

In a thousand years or so. 



CARMINA 113 



THE HOMING GIRL 

'^TT^WAS the gran' time the girls had at 
J- Katie Breen's th'-day 
To sind off wid God-speed her cousin, 
Mary Carr, 
Fur 'tis Mary is the wise girl that laid away 
her pay, 
An' now she's fur the ould home away in 
Castlebar. 

'Twas Kate Breen, the good soul, that got 
the party up 
An' passed 'round the kind word for iv'ry 
wan to come, 
Fur th' ould fr'inds to drop in an' have the 
bit an' sup. 
An' cheer the heart o' Mary Carr before 
she started home. 
'Twas mesel' came whin Mary came this 

manny year ago, 
So gladly an' proudly I' wint th'-day to 
call, 



114 CARMINA 

An' I walked in me fine clo'es wid Patrick 
Kane, me beau; 
But now I am the sorry girl I iver wint 
at all. 

Shure, Mary Carr's the plain thing, an' 
timid as a mouse — 
'Tis small wonder no man had iver liked 
her style — 
But the sorra wan of all thim that gathered 
in the house 
Had the half o' the happiness that 
twinkled in her smile. 
Whin she spoke o' the ould joys she'd 
dreamed so much about — 
The green grass, the glad birds, the bles- 
sid Irish sky. 
Thin wan girl, a young girl that hadn't long 
bin out. 
She flung up her two ban's an' oh, but 
she did cry. 
The girls looked at Mary Carr an' all their 
eyes were dim, 



C A R M I N A 115 

An' I looked at Patrick Kane a-standin' 

be the wall, 
There was pride, aye! an' comfort in the 

thought o' havin' him, 
But, oh, I was the sorry girl I'd iver come 

at all. 

An' walkin' home, the two of us, he axed 
me why I cried. 
"Shure," sez I, "who wouldn't cry fur 
sake o' Mary Carr?" 
Oh, it was the black lie, an' shure, I knew 

I lied — 
Not a wan of all me tears but fell for Castle- 
bar! 
'Twas Mary Carr that came wid me this 
manny year ago, 
Now 'tis she that's turnin' back an' bound 
fur home alone. 
Still, should I be grudgin' her the ould de- 
lights she'll know? 
Haven't I a newer joy an' sweeter fur me 
own? 



ii6 C A R M I N A 

Oh, Patrick Kane's the good man an' fond 

as wan could be; 
An' shure I was the proud girl that walked 

wid him to call 
On Mary Carr that's not the half as fortunit 

as me — 
But, oh, I am the sorry girl I iver wint at 

all. 



C A R M IN A 117 



NEWS O' THE WORLD 

IS it news o' the world that ye're afther? 
I'm sorry to say 
There is Httle o' joy or o' laughther 

That's in it th'-day. 
Shure, there's nothin' but promise o' fightin' 

An' throuble ahead. 
Not a glimmer o' peace shone to brighten 

The gloom that I read 
In the clouds that were rumblin' an' rollin' 

Out yonder th'-day, 
Where CornayHus Gavin wint strollin' 

Wid Kitty McCrea. 

Is it news o' the world ye are wishin'? 

'Tis lucky ye came. 
Fur 'tis I'm in the pleasant position 

To furnish that same. 
Oh, the joy an' the peace that's adornin' 

This counthry is grand! ' 
Take this comfortin' message this mornin': 



ii8 C ARM IN A 

All's well in the land! 
'Tis the news that I heard in the gloamin', 

At close o' th'-day, 
Jisht a whishper that came to me, roamin' 

Wid Kitty McCrea. 



C A R M IN A 119 



THE SON OF HIS FATHER 

OH! my, oh! my, the years go by 
Like sheep the dogs are harryin'; 
But late I had a Kspin' lad, 

An* now he talks o' marryin' ! 
Lord bless me ! but he has the strut 
Of one that's grand an' knows it; 
No lass so prim that looks at him 

But likes his cut an' shows it. 
An', faix, 'twould do your heart good, too. 

To hear him at the blarney; 
There's scarce a lass that sees him pass 
But wears a smile for Barney — 
Our Barney — 
A wishful smile for Barney. 

Tho' Cupid lays cute snares these days 
When Barney goes philanderin'. 

An' all his traps hold geese, perhaps. 
None takes this bold young gander in. 

Ah! none as yet, but there's a net 



I20 C A R M I N A 

That will, one day or other, 
An' her I'd name to bait the same 

Is one hke me, his mother. 
Aye! sure as fate, he'll take for mate 

Sweet, roguish Nora Kearney, 
Who meets his wiles with scornful smiles, 
As once I did with Barney — 
My Barney, 
The father of ''our" Barney. 



C A R M I N A 121 



THE PEACEABLE RACE 



w 



HO says that the Irish are fighters 

be birth?" 
Says Httle Dan Crone. 
'^Faix, there's not a more peaceable race on 
th' earth, 

If ye Pave 'em alone. 

"Tim O'Toole? Well, I grant ye now, 

there is a lad 
That's beset wid the curse o' pugnacity bad, 
But he's jisht th' ixciption that's provin' the 

rule; 
An' what else could ye ask from a lad like 

O'Toole? 
Shure, he's sich a big mountain o' muscle 

and bone, 
Sizin' up to the heft o' some siventeen stone, 
That he fair aggravates iv'ry other bould 

buck 
To be wishful to thump him a little for luck, 



122 CARMINA 

An' to prove that there's others as clever as 

him. 
Now, I ask ye, suppose ye was sturdy as 

Tim, 
Don't ye think 'twould be right ye should 

take a delight 
In defindin' yer title an' testin' yer might?" 
Says Httle Dan Crone. 

^^Is it me? Arrah! now it is jokin' ye are. 
But I bid ye be careful an' not go too far. 
Shure, it's true I'm no more nor the height 

o' yer waist. 
But there's manny a bigger has sampled a 

taste 
O' the knuckles that's bunched in this little 

ould fisht. 
Where's the dog wouldn't fight whin his tail 

gets a twisht? 
Do I hunt fur the throuble? Mayhap, now, 

it's thrue 
Upon certain occasions that's jisht what I 

do. 



C A R M I N A 123 



Shure, how else would they know — I'm 

that stunted an' small — 
I'd the heart of a man in me body at all?" 
Says Httle Dan Crone. 

''Well, thin, keep yer opinion. 'Tis Httle 
it's worth," 

Says Httle Dan Crone. 
"Faix, we're jisht the most peaceable race 
on the earth. 

If ye I'ave us alone." 



124 C A R M I N A 



THE DAY WE CELEBRATE 

L'AVE the yellow gold to Jews — 
Fur it's little that they lose — 
L'ave the balance o' world power to the 
Saxon ; 
Though they scarce could do it worse, 
L'ave them run the universe, 
'Tis fur little that they have that we'd be 
axin'. 
Sorra wan of us that cares 
Fur their high an' mighty airs. 
Or the robes o' r'yal purple an' the linen 
stiff wid starch. 
But there's wan day in the year 
When they mustn't interfere — 
Shure, the whole world is Irish on the Sev- 
enteenth of March! 

Oh, it's Httle that we hold 
Of dominion or of gold 
In the blessid isle that saw us first a nation, 



C A R M I N A 125 

But we made all lands our own 

As we spread from zone to zone; 
So, come all o' ye! an' share our jubilation. 

Oh, the music in the air! 

An' the joy that's ivry where — 
Shure, the whole blue vault o' heaven is 
wan grand triumphal arch, 

An' the earth below is gay 

Wid its tender green th'-day. 
Fur the whole world is Irish on the Seven- 
teenth o' March! 



126 C A R M I N A 



M' 



MONA MACHREE 

ONA Machree, I'm the wanderin' 
creature now, 
Over the sea; 
Slave of no lass, but a lover of Nature, 
now. 

Careless an' free. 
Nature, the goddess of myriad graces. 
Pours for lorn lovers a balm that effaces 
Scars from the heart, in these smilin' new 
places 
Far to the eastward an' far to the south 
of you. 
Sweet are the grapes that she gives me to 

eat. 
Red are her pomegranates, luscious an' 

sweet, 
Dreamy the breath of her flowers in the 
heat — 
But, oh, the red mouth of you, 
Mona Machree! 



C A R M I N A 127 

Mona Machree, though it's here that the 
money is, 

Rather for me 
Dreams an' drowsed rovin's through blooms 
where the honey is, 
Wild as a bee. 
She, the new goddess to whom I'm be- 
holden. 
Snares me in days that are scented an' 

golden 
E'en as the tresses your temples enfoldin'. 
Aye, an' the blue, when the sun has for- 
saken it, 
Blossoms with jewels, night-lamps of her 

throne. 
Bright as two passionless eyes I have known. 
Ah ! it is here that my heart is my own — 
But, oh, the dull ache in it, 
Mona Machree! 



128 CAR MI N A 



OULD BARNEY TO THE 
BOY 

ARRAH! Barney ma bouchal, 'tis courtin' 
ye are, 
An' you but jisht out o' your dresses! 
'Tis the light in your eye, Hke a new-risen 
star, 
That this news to yer father confesses. 
Now ye're off to the town, 
For the sun has gone down, 
An' the spell o' the gloamin' is o'er ye. 
Faith, ye're started like me, 
But it's lucky ye'll be 
If ye end like yer father before ye. 

Oh, the glamour o' night 

Breeds a passion too light 
For a dacint long life-time's adornin', 

But the blessin' that cheers 

All the slow-wheeHn' years 
Is the love that blooms warm in the mornin'. 



CAR MI N A 129 

Arrah! Barney ma bouchal, whin I was a 
lad 
I courted wan lass an' another. 
But the sorra bit comfort from anny I had 
Till I came on the heart o' your mother. 
Oh, her charms they were rare 
In the dusk, at the fair. 
At the dance, in the house she was born in. 
But her soul wasn't found 
Till I happened around 
Where she sang at her work in the morninM 

Oh, the glamour 0' night 

Breeds a passion too light 
For a dacint long life- time's adornin'. 

But the blessin' that cheers 

All the slow-wheelin' years 
Is the love that blooms warm in the mornin'. 



I30 C A R M I N A 



GLIMMERINGS OF PA- 
TRIOTISM 

OCH! the Fourth o' July! 
Shure, I wonder will I 
Ever grow to be glad fur it's deafenin' thun- 
der. 
Will the cannon by day 

An' the rocket by night 
Ever whisk me away 
On a spree o' delight? 
Now, I wonder. 

Faix, at prisint 'tis little I mind to be told 
Of a fight that is more nor a century old, 
An' all thim that was in it long laid in the 
mold. 
"They were heroes," sez you, 
An' all that may be true ; 
But what comfort at all could I find in that 

boast, 
Or in blazin' away at a red-coated ghost 



CAR MI N A 131 

Whin a shot at a Hve wan would cheer me 

the most? 
What's a fight past an' gone to a fight yet 

to be? 
Oh, if anny sich come to this land o' the 

free, 
Jisht a fight fur the joy of it, count upon 
me! 
An' how manny good men 

In that Glorious Row 
Had the thought of this then 
That I have of it now? 
Faix, I wonder. 

An' this lady, Columbia stately an' grand, 
Wid the shield at her side an' the sword in 

her hand, 
Shure, she seems to be queen, if there's wan 
in the land. 
'* She's the Red, White, an' Blue 
That we'd die fur," sez you. 
Would I fight for her, tod? Wid the best 
o' good grace, 



132 C A R M I N A 

Wid the blood o' me heart's core, me fancy 

would trace 
Added beauties to those that you see in her 

face. 
Fur she'd have a wee tilt to her nose in the 

air. 
An' a wild Irish rose in the gold of her hair, 
An' her eyes would be those of sweet Kitty 
O'Hare. 
Ah! how manny brave men 

In that Glorious Row 
Fought their fight fur Her then 
As I'd fight for Her now? 
Faix, I wonder. 



C A R M I N A 133 



A BIT OF A RIDDLE 

THRUE fur you, Kitty Kane, as you 
said but this minute, 
Life's a quare kind o' riddle, a plague at 
the best; 
Shure, I know of but wan compinsation 
that's in it, 
Jisht wan thing that's so sweet it makes 
up fur the rest. 
It begins wid a ^^y" an' it ends wid a "u" — 
You may pucker yer brow, that's as much 
as I'll tell. 
An', besides, don't ye see, 'tis but my point 
o' view; 
You must work out your riddle o' life fur 
yersel'. 

You must look fur your joy in another direc- 
tion, 
An' I beg you to light' in yer innocent 
eyes 



134 C A R M I N A 

Jisht a spark o' sweet pity to aid the inspec- 
tion, 
Since the thing is so small, an' so lowly 
it lies. 

It begins wid an **m'' an' it ends wid an 

Oh, it's Httle it merits your notice, 'tis 

true. 
Still there's good in it, too, though that same 

may but be 
A reflection of all that is sweetest in you. 

Och! the bothersome riddle! I wonder now 
whether 
We could make our luck betther if we 
should combine? 
P'aix, I think if we'd jisht put our two heads 
together 
We could spell in wan word all your joy, 
dear, an' mine. 
It begins wid a ^^u" an' it ends wid an ^^s." 
There's the sum o' my joy an' the sum 
o' your own! 



C A R M I N A 135 

Och! the riddle o' life's so disthressin' to 

guess, 
Nayther wan of us, dear, could have solved 

it alone. 



136 C A R M I N A 



CORNAYLIUS HA-HA-HA- 
HANNIGAN 

TX^WAS the godfather stuttered, or may- 

A hap the priest; 
But, be that as it may, it is certain, at 

least, 
That the wan or the other was surely to 

blame 
Fur presentin' the lad the quare twisht to 
his name. 
For there at the christ'nin', 
Wid iv'ry wan Hst'nin^ 
Now didn't his Riverence, Father O'Flan- 
igan, 
Wid nervousness stam'rin', 
Bechune the child's clam'rin', 
Baptize it 'Tornayhus Ha-Ha-Ha-Hanni- 
igan!" 

Wid these words from the priest, shure, the 
cute little rogue 



C A R M I N A 137 

Up an' stopped his own mouth wid his 

chubby kithogue, 
An' the dimples broke out an' proceeded 

to chase 
All the tears an' the frowns from his inno- 
cint face. 
For, faix, he was afther 
Absorbin' the laughther 
Stuck into his name by good Father OTlan- 
igan! 
Now that's the thruth in it, 
An' so from that minute 
Sure, iv'ry wan called the lad ''Ha-Ha-Ha- 
Hannigan." 

Now, the ''ha! ha! ha!" stuck to him close 

as his name. 
For the sorra a tear could be drownin' the 

same. 
Not a care iver touched him from that bles- 

sid day 
But his gift o' the laughter would drive it 

away. 



138 C A R M I N A 

Wid jokin' an' chaffin' 

He niver stopped laughin', 
Or if he did stop he immajiate began agin; 

An' iv'ry wan hearin' 

His laughter so cheerin' 
Jisht j'ined in the mirth o' young *^Ha-Ha- 
Ha-Hannigan." 

Shure, the throubles o' Hfe are so palthry an' 

small 
'Tis a pity we let thim disthurb us at all. 
There is niver a care but would I'ave us in 

p'ace 
If we'd only stand up an' jisht laugh in its 
face. 
Faix, life were a pleasure 
If all had the treasure 
Conferred so unthinkin' by Father O'Flan- 
igan; 
If all could but borrow 
That cure-all for sorrow 
Possissed by ''Cornaylius Ha-Ha-Ha-Han- 
nigan!" 



C A R M I N A 139 



THEPAUPERAT THEGATE 

IF Father Mack was not so old 
He'd know the thing to do. 
He'd never let the parish hold 

So impudent a shrew 
And bitter-hearted common scold 
As Mary Ann McHugh. 

She's made the mother heart in me 

As heavy as a stone, 
This happy day that was to be 

The proudest I have known, 
Whose sun this mornin' rose and smiled, 

His blessin's full to pour 
Upon the wedding of my child, 

Marie Eleanore. 
Oh, never was there bride more glad; 

No cloud was in her sky, 
And every blessed thing she had 

That ever wealth could buy. 
You would not find, where'er you'd search. 



140 C A R M I N A 

A fashionabler flock, 
Than that assembled in the church 

At haff-pawst ten o'clock. 
Such elegance and wealth and style! 

It swelled my heart with pride, 
When my Marie walked down the aisle 

A happy, happy bride. 
Great crowds was there outside to wait 

And watch us passin' through. 
But first among them, by the gate. 

Stood Mary Ann McHugh; 
And clawin' with her skinny hand 

The bridal veil, she cried: 
*^0h, Mary Ellen, lass, you're grand! 

Was ever sweeter bride? 
'Tis proud to-day your father'd be, 

For, glory be to God! 
'Tis scarce a score o' years since he 

Was carry in' the hod." 

My day was darkened after that; 

I was so mortified. 
Behind my carriage door I sat 



C A R M I N A 141 

And cried, and cried, and cried. 
And now I've been to see the priest 

And, comfortless, come back. 
I thought some helpful word, at least, 

I'd get from Father Mack; 
But he's too old to understand, 

And so he merely smiled 
And took me gently by the hand 

And said to me: ''My child. 
Our dead are wise, and if they've got 

One joy in you or me, 
'Tis pride in what we are, not what 

We think we'd like to be." 

If Father Mack was not so old 

He'd know the thing to do. 
He'd never let the parish hold 

So impudent a shrew 
And bitter-hearted common scold 

As Mary Ann McHugh. 



142 C A R M I N A 



THE OMADHAUN 

THE lads that wastes their days in 
school, 
They nod an' wink an' call me " fool," 
But, och! 'tis httle mind I have to scold 
them. 
Wid all their books they've never read 
The half of all that's in me head; 
They couldn't un'erstan' it if I told them. 

Did y' ever catch a leprechawn? 
Ye never did! For why? 'Tis gone 
Before ye know the crayture's nigh; 
For if ye held him wid yer eye 
He'd have to take ye to the spot 
Where all his gold is in the pot. 
But me they never hold in fear — 
Small care have fools for gold an' gear — 
So when they meet me on me way 
They stop to pass the time o' day. 
Did y' ever know the funny things 



C A R M I N A 143 

A thrush can tell ye? When he sings 

Close both yer ears wid ayther han' 

An' then as quick as e'er ye can 

L'ave loose, hold tight, I'ave loose, hold 

tight - 
But, och! ye'd never do it right! 
Did y' ever knov^ jisht how and when 
'Tis aisiest to catch a wren ? 
"The wren, the wren, the king o' birds, 
St. Stephen's Day, caught in the furze!" 
Lasht Stephen's Day mayhap ye heard 
Who was it snared the nimble bird 
Upon the bush that through the town 
The lads paraded up and down, 
The while they begged from door to door, 
The jinglin' coppers by the score. 
'Twas me! I snared the wren an' got 
No ha'penny of all the lot. 
Not wan for me! They were so mean 
They spint it all at Kane's shebeen. 

Och, I'ave them wink an' call me "fool," 
Them lads that wastes their days in school, 



144 C A R M I N A 

An' oulder wans that spiles their brains wid 
drinkin'. 

'Tis they're the fools themsePs, no less. 

For sorra wan o' them could guess 
The knowledgable things I do be thinkin'. 



ANGLI C E 



HARK YE! MERRIE GLEE 
MEN! 

GOOD morrow! Men of gay employ, 
May peace attend your way, 
And may no note of grief alloy 
The merrie measure of your joy 
Upon this Christmas Day. 

And if, belike ye only think 

Of ale and goodly roast, 
Then may your songs beget the chink 
Of gold to buy the meat and drink 

Which ye esteem the most. 

But if, beneath the motley coat, 
Beat hearts for higher things. 
Ah! then ye know how weak the note 
He makes within his straining throat 

Who feels not what he sings. 

147 



148 C A R M I N A 

And all the glees and merrie trolls 

That ye may sing to-day, 
Are nothing to the song that rolls, 
Unheard by men, from grateful souls 

Of simple folk who pray. 

This day upon a manger-bed 

Was born the Godly Boy, 
Whose blood, another day, was shed 
That souls that hungered might be fed 

To their eternal joy. 

So, if your glees small comfort bring. 

Your hunger to allay, 
Your souls may still be banqueting, 
If ye the sweeter song will sing 

Of simple folk who pray. 



C A R M I N A 149 



OCTOBER 

COME, forsake your city street! 
Come to God's own fields and meet 

October. 
Not the lean, unkempt and brown 
Counterfeit that haunts the town, 
Pointing, like a thing of gloom. 
At dead summer in her tomb; 
Reading in each fallen leaf 
Nothing but regret and grief. 
Come out, where, beneath the blue, 
You may frolic with the true 

October. 

Call his name and mark the sound, 
Opulent and full and round: 

^^ October." 
Come, and gather from his hand 
Lavish largess of the land; 
Read in his prophetic eyes,' 
Clear as skies of paradise, 



I50 C A R M I N A 

Not of summer days that died, 
But of summer fructified! 
Hear, O soul, his message sweet. 
Come to God's own fields and meet 
October. 



CARMINA 151 



THE CASTLE IMPREG- 
NABLE 

SO, Wind of the North, you are faring 
forth 
To harry us once again. 
We've hearkened before to your call to war 

And welcome it now as then; 
Such strife is good when the sluggish blood 
Creeps slow in the veins of men. 
So, wind of the North, 
Come forth! Come forth! 
And harry u^ yet again. 

Yestereve he came, when the sunset's flame 

Had burned to an ashen grey. 
And we heard him first like a far, faint burst 

Of horns in the woodland way. 
But he gathered might as he rode the night; 

How bitter his strength, how great, 
We knew at last when his full-blown blast 

Rang loud at the outer gate, 



152 C A R M I N A 

And each echoing note was a blow that smote 

On casement and roof and wall; 
And we heard, in the wood where the Titans 
stood, 
The noise of a great oak's fall. 
With buffet and blow, and the arrows of 
snow 
That drove in a smothering rack, 
He taunted us sore with the challenge of war. 

But gaily we flung it back, 
As we heaped great logs on the hearthstone 
dogs, 
And over our leagured dome, 
In a pennant of smoke from our chimney, 
broke 
The flag of the castle — Home! 

So his hordes swarmed forth all night from 
the north, 

Investing us as we lay, 
'Till the mystic, white, half-luminous night 

Was merged in the whiter day. 
It was then we rose in our might to close 



C A R M I N A 153 

At handygripes with the foe. 
Oh! the sally out for that fierce glad bout, 

Knee-deep in the swirling snow! 
Oh, the power to feel in his grapple of steel 

Such thrilling and panting bliss 
As the maiden knows, who requites with 
blows 

Her lover's audacious kiss. 
Oh, we felt no fear that our foeman here 

Waged war he could hope to win. 
For he wrought in the breast but a keener zest 

For all that was housed therein. 
For the love of life, for the babes, for wife. 

For joys that be, and to come. 
For all things there in our staunch, four- 
square. 

Impregnable castle — Home ! 

Yea! Wind of the North, come forth, come 
forth. 

And harry us yet again. 
Such strife is good when the sluggish blood 

Creeps slow in the veins of men. 



154 C A R M I N A 



THE POET 

THE truest poet is not one 
Whose golden fancies fuse and run 
To moulded phrases, crusted o'er 
With flashing gems of metaphor; 
Whose art, responsive to his will. 
Makes voluble the thoughts that fill 
The cultured windings of his brain, 
Yet takes no sounding of the pain, 
The joy, the yearnings of the heart 
Untranamelled by the bonds of art. 
O! poet truer far than he 
Is such an one as you may be, 
When in the quiet night you keep 
Mute vigil on the marge of sleep. 

If then, with beating heart, you mark 
God's nearer presence in the dark, 
And musing on the wondrous ways 
Of Him who numbers all your days, 
Pay tribute to Him with your tears 



C A R M I N A 155 

For joys, for sorrows, hopes and fears 
Which He has blessed and given to you, 
You are the poet, great and true. 
For there are songs within the heart 
Whose perfect melody no art 
Can teach the tongue of man to phrase. 
These are the songs His poets raise. 
When in the quiet night they keep 
Mute vigil on the marge of sleep. 



156 C A R M I N A 



ON A MAY MORNING 

THE weary heart hath Night for peace, 
If Day deny it bhss, 
But Where's the heart would seek release 

From such a day as this? 
Night gave me rest and quiet breath 
Within that outer keep of Death 

Where Sleep is gentle warden, 
But, oh! the living joys that thrill 
Across this sunny window-sill 

That looks upon my garden! 
The joyance of the Spring is there. 
The moist earth breathes it on the air; 

And God's sweet prophets, making 
Their orisons in music, sing: 
*' Sleep hath no peace except it bring 

A sweeter joy at waking." 
May I, one night, with peaceful brow, 

Pass Death, the grisly warden, 
And know the joy of life, as now 

I see it in my garden. 



CARMINA 157 



TO A ROBIN 

I HEARD thee, joyous votary, 
Pour forth thy heart in one 
Sweet simple strain of melody 
To greet the rising sun, 
When he across the morning's verge his 

first faint flare had flung 
And found the crimson of thy breast the 
whisp'ring leaves among, 
In thine own tree 
Which sheltered thee. 
Thy mate, thy nest, thy young. 

I marked thee, sorrow's votary, 

When in the noon of day 
Young vandals stormed thy sacred tree 
And bore thine all away; 
The notes of grief that rent thy breast 

touched kindred chords in mine. 
For memories of other days; though slumber- 
ing, still confine 



158 CAR MI N A 

In mine own heart 
The bitter smart 
Of sorrow such as thine. 

I hear thee now, sweet votary, 

Beside thy ruined nest, 
Lift up thy flood of melody 
Against the crimsoned west, 
Forgetful of all else in this, thy one sweet 

joyous strain. 
I thank thee for this ecstasy of my remem- 
bered pain; 
Thou liftest up 
My sorrow's cup 
To sweeten it again. 



C A R M I N A 159 



THE JOURNEY'S END 

GOOD-BYE, dear heart. Be thou, as 
I am, glad. 
Glad for the grace of loneliness and 
yearning 
My heart, far faring from thee, shall have 
had 
Ere its returning. 
Pluck future joy from out this present pain; 
Rejoice to know that these small seeds of 
sorrow 
Shall be Love's harvest when we meet again. 
Some bright to-morrow. 



i6o C A R M I N A 



ALL HALLOWS EVE 

A LOVER of true lovers all, 
I tune my heart to yours, 
All ye who hold, in cot or hall. 

One passion that endures; 
And though for love's lost morn ye pine 

Or in its noon delight, 
Your heart-song shall be merged with mine 
Upon this holy night. 

I sing with thee, O merry boy. 

At young love's opening door; 
I sigh with thee, lone man, whose joy 

Has been, but is no more. 
True love is deathless. Wherefore grieve? 

What was, again shall be. 
I sing, this sweet All Hallows Eve, 

Love's immortality. 



C A R M I N A i6i 



THE DAY OF THE CIRCUS 
HORSE 

IT was a fiery circus horse 
That ramped and stamped and neighed, 
Till every creature in its course 
Fled, frightened and dismayed. 
The chickens on the roadway's edge 
Arose, and flapped their wings, 
And making for the sheltering hedge 
Flew off like crazy things. 

Nor iron gates nor fences barred 

That mettled steed's career. 
It galloped right across our yard 

And filled us all with fear; 
And when it tossed its head and ran 
Straight through the pantry door. 
Cook almost dropped her frying-pan 

Upon the kitchen floor! 



i62 C A R M I N A 

It neighed and pranced and wheeled about 

And scampered off, but then 
We scarcely saw the creature out 

When it was in again. 
And so throughout the livelong day, 

Through house and yard and street, 
That charger held its fearsome way 

And only stopped to eat. 

But when, at dusk, a little lame. 

It slowly climbed the stairs. 
Behold! a gentle lady came 

And made it say its prayers. 
Now, what a wondrous change you see! 

'Sh! Come and take a peep — 
Here lies, as tame as tame can be, 

A Httle boy, asleep! 



C A R M I N A 163 



TO THE JOY-BRINGER 

HAPPY, together we have watched our 
boys 
At merrymaking, by the summer sea, 
In autumn woods, beneath our own roof- 
tree, 
Nor ever wished to draw them from their toys 
For formal thanks to us; for through the 
noise 
Of their rough play and fresh, unfettered 

glee 
Rang praise enough, dear heart, for thee 
and me. 
Who, under God, are makers of their joys. 

Oh, then, dear lady, deem me not remiss 
In that I have but seldom set apart 

Thy name in praiseful song. My singing is. 
Like any child's, a thing devoid of art; 

But joy it hath and thine all praise for this — 
I sing beneath the shelter of thy heart. 



SONGS OF THE MONTHS 



A SONG FOR JANUARY 

'^T^WAS Joy that laid the passing year, 
A 'Tis Joy that speeds the new; 

All joy that I have known, my dear, 
Hath been and is in you. 

All peace and hope of peace, my dear, 
Forever lives in you. 

Like Janus, who with faces twain 

Kept watch in ancient Rome, 
My love shall front old days again 

And days that are to come. 

So, in this month of Janus, here 
Where merge the old and new, 

Howe'er my joy may turn, my dear, 
It must envisage you. 

Its past may count but twfenty suns, 

Its future reacheth far; 
167 



i68 C A R M I N A 

Beyond the edge of time it runs, 
Beyond the utmost star. 

'Twas Joy that laid the passing year, 
'Tis Joy that speeds the new; 

All joy that I have known, my dear, 
Hath been and is in you. 

All peace and hope of peace, my dear, 
Forever lives in you. 



C A R M I N A 169 



A SONG FOR FEBRUARY 

WHEN the gusts of midwinter have 
whitened 
The graves of the flowers 
Whose warm fragrance and beauty once 
brightened 
Our happiest hours, 
Shall we muse on one memoried pleasure 

And mourn for its dearth? 
Nay, my love, here is measure for measure — 
Here's home and the hearth. 

There is nothing of ill can betide me, 
Though all joys but my hearth be denied 
me. 

Where the kettle is singing its tune. 
And you sit on the settle beside me, 

It is June, it is June! 

For the joy one fleet season hath taken 
Another is born. 



I70 C A R M I N A 

Though our woods, by the thrushes for- 
saken, 
Stand cold and forlorn. 
And though, voiceless, the brooklet lies 
sleeping. 
Ice-bound in the earth — 
Ah! the warmth and the music upleaping 
At home, from the hearth! 

There is nothing of ill can betide me. 
Though all joys but my hearth be denied 
me. 

Where the kettle is singing its tune, 
And you sit on the settle beside me, 

It is June, it is June! 



CARMINA 171 



A SONG FOR MARCH 

WHO sings of March must sing the 
mad, 
Lone man-at-arms, the straggler clad 

In motley white and brown — 
Who in the wake of Winter's flight 
Turns now to caper, now to fight — 

Half hector and half clown. 
One moment from a cloud-capped hill 
He blares his slogan, wild and shrill; 

The next, with gusty laughter, 
Outsteps the sunbeams as they dance. 
And leers, and flouts with backward glance, 
The maid who follows after. 
O! sing the maid, 
The light-heart maid, 
Who follows, follows after. 

He flees her down the lengthening days; 
She follows him through' woodland ways. 
O'er hills and vales between, 



172 C A R M I N A 

And sets for mark of victory 

On every bush and hedge and tree 

Her flag of tender green ; 
And when her breath hath spiced the night 
With promise of the warm dehght 

Of young June's love and laughter, 
No other song may true hearts sing 
But "Speed thy passing, March, and bring 

The maid who follows after; 
The light-heart maid, 
The lily maid. 

Who follows, follows after." 



C A R M I N A 173 



A SONG FOR APRIL 

{To Nancy on her fifth birthday) 

ET lovers raise 
In April's praise 
Songs sprung of pagan fancy. 

But, oh, for me, 

With eyes to see 
Her very soul in Nancy, 

They cannot sing 

So sweet a thing 
As this that April taught me — 

The blessing of 

The Httle love 
Whom years ago she brought me. 

So, Loveling, come ! we'll wander through 

Your native fields together, 
And I will make my song of you 

All out of April weather; 
Upon a time when God's great plans 

Were in his looms above us. 



174 C A R M I N A 

And all His angel-artisans, 

Who cherish us and love us, 
Shot shining shuttles in and out 

To fashion April weather. 
The little angels sat about 

And sang and played together. 
Oh, you shall hear the game they played. 

So innocent and jolly; 
They took the weavers' shreds and made 

A little angel dolly! 
Of blended blossoms pink and white. 

The little angels made it. 
With every essence of delight 

Endowed it and arrayed it; 
With soft blue bits of April skies 

And sunlight's golden flashes 
They wrought the beauty of its eyes 

And of its hair and lashes. 
No shred the April weavers left 

But those small angels caught it. 
Inwove it in their mimic weft 

And fashioned it and wrought it. 
Then God, who watched their labour, smiled 



C A R M I N A 175 

And took it and caressed it, 
And lo! it was a living child, 

For with His breath He blessed it. 
So when the weavers' work was done, 

All in the bright spring weather, 
Sweet April and the little one 

Came down to earth together, 
And straight to our own home she flew 

And gave you to your mother! 
Ay! sweet, the little child was you, 

Just Nancy and no other. 

O! who may sing 

A sweeter thing 
Than this that April taught me. 

The blessing of 

The little love 
Whom years ago she brought me ? 



176 CAR MI N A 



A SONG FOR MAY 

AWAKE! arise! grey dreams and slum- 
ber scorning, 
For every dormer looking on the east 
Is portal to the banquet hall this m.orning 
Where May hath called her lovers to her 
feast. 
Lo! as it were a pledging goblet, glowing 

In her rose fingers over which do run 
The golden bubbles poured to overflowing, 

Up, up, she lifts the sun! 
Oh, drink with her this airy wine of spring. 
That from her hands her winged breezes 
bring, 
Sweet philter for all hearts on earth that 
be! 
Hark! how the birds are drunk with it and 
sing; 
Mark, where the flushed winds spill it 
on the sea. 
How, lapping it, the waves go carolling; 



C A R M I N A 177 

See how dull earth, meek flower and 

stately tree, 
Where'er the breezes haste it, 
Rejoice that they may taste it. 
Shall we, then, slumb'ring, waste it — 

This draught of ecstasy? 

lovers all, in this sweet wine 

1 pledge you and your loves and mine — 

A cup with you! 
Up! up! with you. 
And drink the May with me! 



178 C A R M I N A 



A SONG FOR JUNE 

'^T^IS June! the glad time when I found 

A thee, 

O thou, my sweet flower of love! 
The dear olden glamour is 'round thee. 

The same tender sky bends above. 
New beauties the summer discloses, 

But none that can rival thee now; 
Not one of its fairest young roses 

Is perfect as thou. 

One June brings the red rose of passion 

And marks its frail beauty decline. 
But June upon June could not fashion 

The rose of a love such as thine. 
Not long in the gardens of pleasure 

Are love's sweetest flowers possessed; 
The love that hath leavening measure 

Of sorrow is best. 



CAR MI N A 179 

This June its new beauties discloses, 
But none that can rival thee now. 

Not one of its fairest young roses 
Is perfect as thou. 



i8o C A R M I N A 



A SONG FOR JULY 

'^TT^IS the noon of the year. 

A As a toiler, oppressed 
By the labour and heat, 

Folds his hands on his breast, 
Drawing strength from his dreams, 

Lo! the earth swings at rest 
In the noon of the year. 

'Tis the noon of the year. 

Ere it pass to its wane, 
Over full-bosomed trees, 

Over yellowing grain, 
Earth, the toiler, a-drowse, 

Must revive him again 

In the noon of the year. 

'Tis the noon of the year. 

Come, be one with it, sweet! 
Love in idleness calls 

Through the languorous heat, 



C A R M I N A i8i 



Where the dream poppies nod 

In the wind-wimpled wheat, 

In the noon of the year. 



82 C A R M I N A 



A SONG FOR AUGUST 

SINCE thou hast gone, I often see 
In garden closes 
Faint-visioned effigies of thee 

Among the roses; 
Some semblance of thy beauty's bloom, 
Some savour of the sweet perfume 

That clung around thee. 
But never was I fain to say 
"This rose is thine" until to-day — 

To-day I found thee. 

Where Poverty in squalor lies, 

Within the city, 
Where summer sears but never sighs 

With breath of pity, 
How Httle speaks of thee; but there 
Thy rose of roses, sweet and fair, 

I found this morning! 
The white rose in its broken pot 
An attic window's garden-plot 

I saw adorning. 



C A R M I N A 183 

Ne'er bloomed a sweeter flower of love 

In greenest valley, 
Than that white rose, set high above 

The squalid alley. 
If anywhere on earth thou art, 
Here would'st thou hide thy mother heart 

In self-abasement; 
This rose must house thy spirit mild 
To cheer the little sickly child 

Behind that casement. 



i84 C A R M I N A 



A SONG FOR SEPTEMBER 

There's a death-damp in the dawn 
And a fever in the noon; 
Summer's tender bloom is gone 
And her soul will follow soon. 
Yet the leaves upon her trees 

And her nodding flowers fling 
Benedictions down the breeze 
As they sing: 

"^Morituri salutamus,' 

But we shall not die in vain. 
We shall fill your dreams with beauty 

Till the summer comes again." 

There are voices in the night, 

And the calm stars overhead 
Are like tapers set a-light 

In the chamber of the dead. 
And the mourning katydid 

Sits and beats its strident wings, 



C A R M I N A 185 

In its leafy-covert hid, 
And it sings: 

^''Morituri salutamus,' 

But we shall not die in vain, 
We shall fill your dreams with beauty 

Till the summer comes again." 



i86 C A R M I N A 



A SONG FOR OCTOBER 

FRUITFUL October! so fair and calm, 
Singing of God and His charity, 
Every note of thy joyous psalm 

Chords of my heart give back to thee. 
Joy for the riches thy bounty yields 
Over the breadth of our smiling fields! 
Out of the months that have gone before, 
Gathering tribute for this thy store, 
E'en from the torpid December moon, 
From the vernal rains and the heats of 

June, 
All that was good thou hast drawn and 
brought. 
Nothing a loss; 
E'en from the dross, 
Alchemist marvellous, thou hast wrought 
Misted gold for thy noon's delights, 
Silver of frost for thy twinkling nights. 
Blest in thy blessing, all beauty now 
Glows as a diadem on thy brow. 



C A R M I N A 187 

So, let me sing to thee, 

So, let me bring to thee 
Praise of the queen of my soul, for she, 
Bountiful bringer of joys to me. 
Wearing thy glory, is kin to thee. 
How hath she wrought with the passing 

years ? 
All of their pleasures and pains and tears. 
All their rose hopes and their pallid fears, , 
Through her sweet being have issued forth 
Fused into treasure of priceless worth. 
Look on the fruits of her alchemy. 
Lisping their music around her knee. 
Muse on the splendour of her sweet face, 
Motherly wisdom and maiden grace. 
Gold of your noon-time is in her hair; 
Aye, and your silver of frost is there. 
Tell me, October, oh, who so fair? 

Not even thou 

Weareth a brow 
Fuller of beauty or freer of care. 
Oh, for the guerdon of qyiet bliss. 
For the yet warm heart and the cool sweet kiss 



i88 C A R M I N A 

Of her perfect loving; for this, for this, 
Fruitful October, so fair and calm. 
Singing of God and His charity, 
Every note of thy joyous psalm 
Chords of my heart give back to thee! 



C A R M I N A 189 



A SONG FOR NOVEMBER 

WHEN crows croak in the leaden sky 
O'er prone grey field and spectral 
wood, 
And all that greets thine ear and eye 

Sends eerie echoes through thy blood, 
Oh, close the door and come within 
Where never winter's chill may win; 

For here, my dear, 
Proportioned to thy need of me 
The measure of my love shall be. 

When boding night-winds snarl and moan 

'Round gabled roof and frosted pane, 
'Tis not our common hearth alone 

That makes the winds' forebodings vain. 
But those twin sparks of fire divine 
It feeds from in thy heart and mine; 

For here, my dear. 
Thy need of me, my need of thee. 
The measure of our love must be. 



I90 C A R M I N A 



A SONG FOR DECEMBER 

THE earth's shroud is embossed 
With gems of twinkling frost; 

The heavens snap with cold. 
A wind mysterious thrills, 
Above the sleeping hills, 

With music sweet and old. 
The stars sang one December 

And shake with music yet; 
For aye they will remember, 

Although the world forget, 
The God-child's birth-cry ringing 

From out a lowly place 
That set the planets singing 

In farthest fields of space. 

From warm sweet depths of sleep 
Where little child-hearts keep 
Their faith until the morn, 
Beyond the sunset bars 
To shake the farthest stars 



C A R M I N A 191 

Another song is borne. 
Their hopeful dreams ascending 

In waves of music flow, 
A joyous chorus blending 

With that of long ago. 
With song the night is teeming, 

But, oh, how mute we are. 
Who have nor faith for dreaming 

Nor wisdom of the star! 



192 C A R M I N A 

L'ENVOI 

TO A TENANT 

YOU found this house, dear lady, over- 
run 
With noisome things that wait upon decay. 
All pent within it mouldering in the grey, 
Sick gloom of long disuse whose webs were 

spun 
Through all its halls. You entered, and, 
the sun 
And God's air coming with you, swept 

away 
All ugliness and squalor, on that day 
When first your life-long leasehold was be- 
gun. 

You tell me now your house, this heart of 
mine, 
Is warm and ever-beautiful and fair, 
And call me benefactor, nor divine 



C A R M I N A 193 

How little debt you owe, how much I 

bear 
To you who made this shabby place a shrine 
On that sweet day when first you entered 

there. 



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